BY THE HOUR, ATLANTA, Book 1

by LaBrecque, Jennifer

  She sat on his lap, and he turned her to face the mirror. “Spread your legs and drape them over the arms of the chair. That’s it. Look at that pretty pink pussy, all wet and waiting.”

  She was so ready and eager for it, he only had to stroke the vibrator over her clit a few times to leave her bucking her hips up, and then he inserted it and turned it up, plying it deeper and deeper inside her. It simply sent her over the line into a wanton who thrust against him and cried out and who watched in the mirror as another orgasm devastated her.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “I hope you enjoy it.” Kennedy presented Georgina a plate. The smell of curry punctuated the air.

  “I’m sure I will,” she said.

  It was disconcerting how much Georgina had enjoyed being in the kitchen with him. She’d pitched in with the prepping while he’d handled all of the cooking. While she was strictly a by-the-recipe kind of cook, Kennedy had thrown in a bit of that, a pinch of this, and it had all melded to this wonderfully fragrant dish. Who knew that plain old rice, chicken, and vegetables could turn out to be something that looked and smelled like this with a few spices thrown in? She’d always been a little leery of culinary adventure, in no small measure because George was a meat and potatoes kind of guy who considered salt and pepper a full range of seasoning.

  Kennedy sat on the other end of the sofa. She had waited on him to begin eating. He raised his fork in her direction. “Bon appetite.” He grinned. “Dig in.”

  Curry, cumin, red pepper, and coconut milk all exploded against her tongue. Exotic and spicy, it was wonderful—a bit like Kennedy himself.

  “It’s fantastic,” she said, around a mouthful.

  “You really like it?”

  “I wouldn’t say I did if I didn’t.”

  He shrugged and chuckled. “You’re pretty hung up on being polite.” He forked up a bite.

  Tears instantly gathered in her eyes, her feelings bruised. It felt like a criticism. It certainly wasn’t a compliment. She pasted on the smile she pulled out when she was feeling shitty inside but had to put on a happy face for the guest approaching the front desk.

  “It’s very good.”

  He paused, his fork in mid-air. “I said something wrong, didn’t I?”

  “Of course not.” If that’s what he thought then that’s what he thought.

  “I just meant—”

  She cut him off. “It was clear what you meant.” And she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “How do you know how much curry to put in? Is there some rule of thumb? I’d love to make this again.”

  How about that, Mr. Kennedy Oates? She didn’t need him around to make damn curry. He might’ve introduced her to it, but she could handle it on her own from here on out.

  He looked at her like he wasn’t quite buying her subject change, but he answered nonetheless. “Like any other spice, it’s best to add a little at a time. You can always put in more, but it’s damn hard to take it out once it’s done.”

  Just like that kiss. She suddenly wanted to scream and yell at him for kissing her. And maybe she should scream and yell at herself for kissing him back. Dammit, like the distinct scent and flavor of the curry in this dish, now her life and her psyche were flavored with his touch and taste. So, yeah, once you added the spice, or a kiss, there was no taking it back.

  “Duly noted.” She knew her tone was clipped. He was messing with her head and he’d struck a sore spot with his hung up comment. It still stung. In fact, everything in her life seemed to be turning upside down.

  “Look, Gina—”

  It was an epiphany or maybe like a bomb of realization exploding inside her. Too polite summed up her entire life of trying not to make waves, trying to be useful so she would be wanted, or at least tolerated. She’d towed the line and been nice and accommodating all her life just to be tolerated. That suddenly struck her as intolerable.

  “You’re right. I’m too polite.”

  “I didn’t say you were too polite.”

  Yeah? So he wanted to split hairs now? “Hmm. It seems to me that that’s exactly what hung up on infers. But I’m telling you, you’re right. I am too polite. I’m too damn nice. If I wasn’t so damn nice, I’d have left George a long time ago.” As soon as the thought zapped into her head, she knew it was true. She had stayed because how could she leave him when he was like that? It had taken her a long time. “If I wasn’t so freaking hung up on being polite I wouldn’t have let you in, but it seemed rude and impolite to kick you out when you brought groceries.” That didn’t exactly ring true but she was on a roll, so she was going with it. “So, yeah, I suppose I am hung up on being polite. But I’m going to fix that now. All pretense of polite aside, the food is incredibly good. And when we’re done eating, you can leave.”

  “We can’t watch TV afterwards?”

  He seemed totally unfazed by her rant, which just made her all the angrier.

  “Did I just mention watching TV?”

  “No.”

  “Okay then.”

  “Okay.” He nodded. “You know you’re just tripping because I kissed you. If you don’t come up with some reason to get rid of me, you’re afraid you’re going to wind up with more than a kiss.”

  She fired her heavy arsenal. “Fuck you.” It felt awkward rolling off her tongue, but gratifying. She’d never said that to anyone before. She had always been too polite.

  “I do think that’s the issue.” He grinned. “You’re keeping it real, Gina.”

  He was the most infuriating man. He’d insulted her and pissed her off, and now he was kind of making her want to laugh. It was insult to injury when you wanted to really engage in a good bout of pissed-offedness, and then the one who’d pissed you off in the first place made you want to laugh.

  She stood. “This is keeping it real. You can leave. Now.”

  He remained seated, unperturbed, amusement glimmering in his dark brown eyes. “When I finish eating.”

  “Now.”

  “You said earlier when I finished eating, and I know you’re a woman of your word.”

  There were only a few bites left on his plate. “Fine. Then take me at my word and get out when you’re done stuffing your face. How’s that for polite?” Wow, she never knew she had this much rude in her.

  He smirked at her…honestly, smirked. “It’s cool.”

  She’d actually thought she liked him. She sat on her end of the sofa, crossed her arms over her chest, and stared at him.

  He took his time.

  He was so calm and she was in such a turmoil, and it simply further agitated her. “The night’s young. You still have plenty of time to go out with Detroit or whoever you go out with since your evening with me was such a wash.”

  “Maybe.” He stood, empty plate in hand, and walked into the kitchen. She heard the water running in the sink, and then he sauntered back into the den.

  She was standing, waiting so she could lock the door behind him. “Don’t come back. I’m done with being polite. I won’t let you in next time.”

  “Yes, you will.” He stopped in front of her, and her heart tripped all over itself. For a second she thought he was going to touch her. Instead he simply looked at her and that was nearly too much. His gaze felt like a caress. “You’ll let me in again because being polite didn’t have a goddamned thing to do with you letting me in.”

  “Don’t bet on it.” It took every ounce of bravado for her to throw that out there because when he stood this close to her…well, thinking, functioning was becoming increasingly difficult.

  He smiled as he moved to the front door. “I don’t have to.” He opened the door and winked at her. “There’s no betting involved when it’s a sure thing.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “All in good time.”

  That was precisely what she was afraid of.

  * * *

  Arden looked up from the presentation outline she was working on at the knock on her office door. “Yes?”

  Mart
ina entered, carrying a vase of roses, deep red blooms interspersed with greenery and baby’s breath. They were beautiful. “These are for you.”

  Greg. “Thanks.” Arden stood and took the vase from Martina. Arden couldn’t contain her smile. “I had a date last night.”

  Eying the flowers, Martina’s look was a mix of envy and speculation. She dawdled at the door. “It must’ve gone pretty good.”

  “It did. Thanks. If you’ll close the door behind you.”

  A disgruntled Martina left.

  I’m looking forward to tonight.

  Her heart thumped against her ribs and her entire body tingled with anticipation. They were meeting at Eleven for their own private happy hour after work this evening. She was more than looking forward to it.

  She resolutely placed the flowers on the far left corner of her desk. She had to get this outline tightened and finished.

  Two hours later and Martina returned, another arrangement of flowers in-hand. This was totally different with sensual white calla lilies unfurling in a tall, slender ebony vase. Him, Master.

  “I want some of whatever it is that you’re taking,” Martina said. “If that was last night’s date, was this Monday’s date?”

  Arden laughed but didn’t answer directly.

  With a sigh, Martina put them on the right edge of the desk, opposite the roses. “I know…close the door behind me.”

  These were from him. She knew it. Just as she had when she got the roses from Greg, her body instantly responded. And as before, she waited until Martina left to open the card.

  Rearrange for Thursday. You’re the container.

  The sheer eroticism…the deviancy…she was aching and on fire.

  What to do? She’d hardly slept last night. She’d tossed and turned, in the grip of some sexual fever, generally wrecking her bed along with her state of mind. Her marriage had ended when her ex-husband had developed a coke habit. She wouldn’t and couldn’t live with an addict. But for the first time, she had a glimmer into what his addiction might have been like.

  She was fairly certain she’d never go back to “normal” sex again. She’d had a taste of domination and spanking, and she liked it…loved it…craved it. Even with two relative strangers, there’d been a bond there, a thread that wasn’t in “normal” sex.

  She pushed away from her desk and paced, hoping the outlay of energy would get her back to a point where she could focus on her work. The two floral displays anchoring opposite corners of her desk mocked that notion.

  So, now what did she do? Continue to see both her faceless lover and Greg? Even though there’d been spanking and domination and sex involved with both, it had been distinctly different with each man, just as their flowers were different. And she’d liked it with each one of them. She didn’t want to give up either one.

  So, there she had it. She wouldn’t give up either one yet. Of course, she wasn’t going to advertise that they weren’t her one and only. Neither of them had mentioned any exclusivity.

  Arden trailed her fingertip over a velvety rose petal and then traced the edge of one of the callas. Sensual, erotic, beautiful.

  She sat and rested her head against the chair’s back and glanced from one corner of her desk to the other. Sooner or later she’d have to make a choice. But it wasn’t now, and it wasn’t today.

  * * *

  Arden stepped off of the elevator and paused in front of the mirror to check her appearance and catch her breath. Anticipation and running late compliments of a traffic jam had her breathless. Make-up was fine. She smoothed her hair. Deep breath…and exhale. Turning from the mirror, she made her way down the hall, glad that they were in a different suite this time.

  Her heart still racing, she slid the key card and stepped inside. Even though it was still light outside, the drapes were drawn and, as before, candles bathed the room in a romantic glow. Greg sat on the loveseat, looking sexy with his tie loosened and his black-rimmed glasses on.

  “Thank you for the roses.” Arden closed the door behind her.

  “You pleased me…last time,” Greg said.

  “I’m glad.” She simply stood there, awaiting his instructions.

  His eyes glimmered his approval. He nodded his head in the direction of the other room. “Go to the bathroom and wait for me there.”

  “Okay.” She placed her purse on the foyer table.

  “Okay?” She paused at his sharp tone. “It’s ‘yes, sir. ’ ”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Much better.”

  She crossed to the bedroom. As with the sitting room, the drapes were drawn, the bed covers were turned back, and candles lit the area. More candles were on the bathroom counter, around the tub with a candelabra stand holding six long tapers near the tub. Her heart racing, she waited. The uncertainty of what was to come excited her. Perhaps they were going to take a bath together.

  Her pussy, already wet when she walked through the door, was dripping now.

  Greg entered. She didn’t turn her head but looked at him in the mirror. He returned her gaze via the glass. However, what caught and held her attention was the paddle in his hand, by his side. Alarm…and arousal…coursed through her, but she remained silent.

  He casually placed the paddle on the counter. “Run a bath. Use the bath salts and the bubble bath.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She leaned over and started the water not setting the stopper in place until the temperature was just right. Then she dumped in a generous amount of salts and bubble bath. The aroma of roses, and maybe lavender, hung heavy and sweet in the air as the warm water released the fragrance.

  However, all she could think about was the paddle lying in wait on the counter. She knew letting her see it and then leaving her guessing was part of his domination.

  She straightened and waited. He crossed the room to her and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms loosely about her waist. “That’s such a good girl. You did exactly as I instructed.”

  “Thank you, sir.” He felt good, and he smelled good as well. He wore just the right amount of cologne. It was a different scent than him…Master, but arousing nonetheless.

  He kissed her, his mouth warm and tender, a soft, romantic greeting that went along with the candles and the rose-scented steam.

  “Um,” he said against her mouth as he deepened the kiss. She linked her arms around his neck, and he pulled her closer, harder against him. His erection jutted against her pussy through their clothes, and she canted her hips into closer contact. He broke the kiss and smoothed his finger over her cheek. “Turn off the water, pet.”

  She twisted the taps, turning the water off, and leaving only the sound of their breathing in the room.

  He pulled her back into his arms. “I’m going to undress you so I can admire and play with you.” His voice was low and seductive as he nuzzled at her neck. Her pussy nearly spasmed at his reference to playing with her and the feel of his lips against her sensitive skin. “Then I’m going to bathe you.” She was melting in his arms. “Afterwards I will have to punish you for your disrespect.” His tone didn’t change, and it took her a second to register his words. “You were seven minutes late.”

  “But traffic—”

  He placed his fingers across her lips, his touch gentle but firm. “Shh. No excuses. Never make me wait again. It’s not okay. It’s yes, sir and no, sir. And never interrupt me. Perhaps a good paddling will help you remember.”

  “Yes, sir.” This was going to hurt. Her pussy throbbed in anticipation even as her gut clenched.

  He turned her around and unzipped her dress. Sliding the material aside, he kissed her neck and her back. A shiver shook her. His hands and his mouth felt delicious on her.

  “My little pet likes that, doesn’t she?” His hands were warm against her flesh.

  “Yes, sir.” She wanted more, but she didn’t dare ask for it. Or maybe it was all in how she did the asking. “I like it so much, sir, may I please have some more?”

&
nbsp; “Patience, my pet.” He pushed the dress down her arms and past her hips to puddle around her feet.

  “Step out of it, fold it neatly, and place it on the counter next to the paddle.”

  She did as instructed and returned to stand in front of him. The humidity had been high today so she’d gone bare-legged to work. He eyed her bra, panties, and heels in approval but frowned at her bare legs. “From now on you wear hose or lace-topped thigh-highs when we meet.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Her nipples were tight, her breasts felt heavy, her pussy throbbed, and her whole body quivered. He turned her until they faced the mirror, him behind her. She watched as he unhooked her bra and freed her breasts. He skimmed her panties over her hips and down until she stood in front of him wearing only her heels.

  Pulling her back against him, he cupped her breasts and weighed them, squeezed them. She felt his clothes against her back, the press of his belt buckle, the jut of his erection. His hands on her breasts felt so good.

  “Beautiful,” he said, and she had no doubt he meant it. He caught her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and rolled them, tugged on them, and she dropped her head to his shoulder, her breath coming faster and shallower. “My pet likes it when I tug on her pretty pink nipples, doesn’t she?”

  “Oh, yes, sir.”

  He tugged harder, pinching them more firmly, and she cried out. For an instant he held them, then released and smoothed his palms over them. She bucked at the contact.

  “That wasn’t too hard. You know you liked it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Spread your legs so I can play with your sweet little pussy.” He reached around her, his body warm against her skin and slid one finger along her vulva. She nearly came undone.

  “Your pussy wants to be petted, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir. It needs you to play with it.”

  He rimmed her with his finger and then buried two of his fingers inside her, and she wiggled against them, trying to take more. He laughed and withdrew his finger.

  “Your pussy’s definitely in a playful mood today.” He caught the folds of her labia between his fingers and tugged. It felt exquisite. She moaned deep in her throat. He released her, and she barely bit back her protest. He reached between her legs from behind and teased and rubbed and petted her, smearing her juices all the way back to her anus. He dipped his finger in her drippings and rimmed her anus. She quivered at the contact.