by Christa Wick
He needed to know what it was — wanted to know everything that ran through her head. Unlike the cameras and microphones in the house, no device could extract that information. To find out, he would have to ask and that would expose his need and, thus, his weakness.
Slowly, Griffin cleaned the paint from the brush and returned it to the table.
He kept his gaze on Katelyn the entire time. She relaxed in small increments but continued to cast her gaze down. She needed, he thought, a reminder that she craved his caresses and a lesson that her touchy-feely nonsense would not be tolerated.
The contract did not call for a meeting of the minds but of flesh. He needed to put her back to where she had been that morning — soft, compliant and ready to do whatever he demanded. He didn’t like what he saw simmering just beneath the surface of her skin — it looked like mutiny.
The brush clean, he stood and approached the divan. Katelyn braced herself, the gesture so subtle he would not have noticed it had he not studied her so closely the last few days. He wrapped a hand around each hip, his thumbs caressing the prominence of bone beneath her flesh.
No response.
His gaze narrowed. “Look at me.”
Her head angled back, her eyes lifting with no trace of retreat or encroaching softness. Griffin’s touch grew more intimate as the back of his knuckles drifted across her mound. He dragged one down her clit, his attention never wavering from her impassive face. Realizing she would never relax while he stared into her hazel eyes, he lowered his head. His mouth started along a line that would lead to her sweet cunt and surrender.
Katelyn released the edges of the cushion. Hands sliding over his, she cupped her mound. “If you aren’t going to paint me, I should return to your bedroom.”
“I didn’t have you sign a contract so I could paint you.” His tone turned brusque. His fingers circled her wrists, his touch remaining light despite his urge to seize her.
“Correct, you brought me here to play with, however you wanted.” Katelyn lifted her chin in the direction of her propped ankle. “But you said you can’t do that now.”
His hands slid from her wrists down to her thighs. Heat flared across his cheeks and he realized he’d blinked half a dozen times as she delivered her carefully worded denial. Griffin closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring wide in frustration. He didn’t need to look or touch to know Katelyn was bone dry between her legs.
She had been wet for him less than half an hour ago. Now, merely because he would not indulge her prying questions, she offered nothing more than arid rejection. Or was she really afraid, despite her earlier eagerness, that he might further injure her ankle? Was it the fear that had turned her dry?
“I’ll be careful, Kate. I want—” Griffin stopped, mentally amending what he had been about to reveal. Only the weak want — the strong take. That had been drilled into him since childhood. He would not say want or need to her again no matter how accurate the word. Brushing his fingers every so lightly across her inner thighs, he restarted. “I’m only going to kiss you, Kate. There’s no chance of injury from my nuzzling your
sweet
cunt.”
He had started to say achy but that obviously was not the case. Nothing in her demeanor yearned toward him.
“No.” She drew her legs up, her body twisting away from him as she reached for her robe. “If you want to do more than paint me today, I must end the contract.”
Griffin noted how careful she was with her words, framing the situation so that he would have to issue the command that pushed her out of his house and his bed.
He watched Katelyn move further out of reach. Dragging her back, holding her in place while he kissed and licked the resistance away would require little effort, but he didn’t want her forced submission. He wanted her to crave his touch again, to look at him like she would never leave his side regardless of how much of his fortune he might one day lose. He wanted what she had offered so eagerly that morning.
He wanted her love.
His shoulder twitched and he shook his head. He wanted her pleasure, he reminded himself — her pleasure and her submission, nothing more. Shoving his hand into the pocket of Katelyn’s robe, he removed the pager and summoned Claire.
“You may rest the remainder of the day.” His throat constricted, a small burst of bile eating at the back of his throat. “Consider it a bonus for a job well done.”
He handed Katelyn the cane and the pager then returned to the easel to scrape away the paint that had not yet dried. A little sanding would be required and a coat of titanium white, but he could reuse the canvas. With the wet paint cleared, he proceeded to clean the color palette while he ignored Katelyn sitting quietly on the couch.
Claire entered a few minutes later. Katelyn rose and met her halfway to the door. Still focused on the table of paints, Griffin called over his shoulder to the older woman. “Help her to her room then tell Philip I need him to drive me to Martinique’s.”
“Sir?” Claire shook the question loose.
“Do you need me to repeat my instructions?” His tone cautioned silence. Claire knew exactly what a trip to Martinique’s meant. Well, he doubted she knew exactly what it entailed — she and Philip weren’t exactly adventurous — but she knew well enough. Her timid challenge surprised him. It was neither her place nor her inclination to reprimand him.
Katelyn, on the other hand
She could have changed his mind in a heartbeat. She only had to send Claire away and return to the couch in submission.
“Do you?” He repeated more brusquely when neither woman spoke. He heard the tip of Katelyn’s cane softly strike the floor as she dismissed the conversation and headed for her room.
“No.” Claire started to move at last, her steps falling faster than Katelyn’s to catch up with the younger woman. “I understood you the first time.”
Sitting before the easel, his spine and shoulders as stiff as the wooden stool beneath him, Griffin listened to the women walk away. When he could no longer hear even the tap of the cane, he moved to the divan. Finding one of the silk pillows that Katelyn had rested against, he pressed it to his face and breathed deeply several times. Finished consuming the last traces of her scent, he dropped the pillow to the floor then met Philip in the garage.
**********
Griffin stood in front of an X-frame. Strapped to it, a brunette squirmed eagerly. Martinique had blindfolded the woman before his arrival and left her kneeling for him. The dark brown hair and athletic frame were just as he had requested. Finding her quivering and responsive when he entered the room, he confirmed her safe word then told her to remain silent except for its use.
He ran his hands along her spread legs. Thin lace panties covered her pussy. A matching black strap concealed her breasts. Taking a pair of small scissors, he slowly snipped the top away. Her muscles flexed and he could smell her arousal.
Her lips parted, her tongue darting out to lick at their dryness.
The lace fell to the floor, revealing nipples the color of newly ripened watermelon. He brushed a finger up one and earned a throaty moan. She was clearly enjoying herself. So far, she was the only one. Reaching along a shelf next to the cross, he selected a pair of nipple clamps. Staring at the juncture of her thighs, he clicked the metal clamps together.
The black lace grew darker and her hips did a little dance. He reached under the lace, his fingers spreading her juices. Her shaking intensified, so did her moaning. More than a submissive, the woman seemed to be a slave in need of a master. Martinique had obliquely suggested as much.
Griffin ran his eyes over her flesh, looking for and finding signs of old abuse.
His forehead creased, a frown tugging at his mouth at the same time. The woman needed rescued, not used. He looked down at the flat line of his pants. At the moment, thoughts of Katelyn scratching inside his head and chest, he was in no shape to perform either function. It had been stupid and childish to come and, in rejecting the woman, he was about to make yet anot
her person suffer for his bad decision.
Griffin replaced the clamps on the shelf then untied her. He carried her to the couch. Sitting with her placed across his lap, Griffin cradled her upper body as he stroked her cheek. “You may tell me your name.”
“A—” She stopped then swallowed hard before answering. “It’s Amanda.”
“You’re very lovely, Amanda.” His lips glossed over her cheek. “But I’m not looking for a slave and you shouldn’t be looking for a master in this state.”
She started to protest but he shushed her. His mouth remaining pressed in a kiss against her forehead, Griffin ran one hand down her stomach. His fingers dipped beneath the lace to stroke at her pussy. He started softly, his caresses and pinches roughening only when her slave nature became frustrated. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Amanda clung to him.
She sought his mouth, he did not give it to her. It was not his to offer. If he wanted to be honest with himself, none of his body was his to offer — not his mouth , not his cock, not even the hand he employed to make Amanda arch and moan until he completely stole her breath away and she could do no more than tremble violently in his arms as she came.
His body belonged to Katelyn, but rejecting Amanda outright had become impossible after he had entered the scene. An abusive master would have stripped layer after layer of her spirit away with each new injury. He would have blamed the cuts and bruises on her — accusing her of being too slow, too fast, too thin, too heavy, too everything and anything. Martinique had made a terrible mistake in selecting Amanda to play with anyone. He refused to compound it by rejecting the woman.
He held her until she finally quieted in his arms and then he kissed her forehead and left the room. Finding Andre, the club’s other owner, Griffin pulled him aside to discuss Amanda’s situation. Satisfied Andre would find someone suitable to foster Amanda or ban her from the club if she insisted on participating in scenes too soon, he left the building and waited outside in the rain for Philip’s arrival.
Wind buffeted him while cold, fat drops penetrated his jacket. Ignoring the creeping chill, he mulled over his options with Katelyn. In naming Martinique as his destination, he had intentionally ensured Katelyn knew he would be with another woman, whether she connected Martinique to the club or not. Beyond his being childish and spiteful, he had undoubtedly reminded Kate of her father.
Hell, the whole rotten good-bye reminded him of his own father.
Spotting the headlights of the limo, he rubbed at his cheek and tried to recall when he had turned into the miserable old bastard who had fathered him. Not before the old man’s death, that was certain. Everything the old man had done while alive, Griffin had intentionally done the opposite. After the senior Montgomery’s death, then.
He narrowed the time frame down to the first deal he almost blew because he had tried to negotiate on even turns — treating the opposing executive as an equal, forgetting the man was an adversary, that everyone across the table was an adversary. Twenty thousand good paying jobs would have disappeared over the course of a few months had he not wised up.
So, yeah, he had become an asshole — for the right reasons at the time.
The limo rolled to a stop and he opened the door before Philip could put the vehicle in park. No need for the old man to get wet. Griffin pulled the door shut then rolled the dividing window down. “Home.”
Home always meant the Montgomery estate. When he wanted to stay in the city, he used penthouse. Despite the clarity, Philip didn’t move beyond tightening his grip on the steering wheel. Griffin tilted his head until he could see the older man’s profile. Philip’s lips smashed against one another, never quite parting before they pressed together again. Clearly, he had something to say.
A lecture no doubt, one Griffin wasn’t in the mood for, but he could either be an ass for the umpteenth time that day and tersely reissue the command or let the man speak his peace. The latter option seemed like the quickest route home and he desperately wanted to reach Katelyn quickly. The less time she had to wonder what he was doing at Martinique’s, the better.
Sliding a panel next to the refrigerator, he pumped some hand sanitizer into his palm then rubbed it in. “What is it, Philip?”
“Miss Willow
“
Reaching for the spare bottle of his cologne, Griffin froze. “Yes? She hasn’t passed out or anything?”
He cursed himself, more convinced than ever that he shouldn’t have left the estate. He could have carried her back to the bedroom and rested beside her, perhaps mending in the process whatever it was he had broken between them in the library.
“No,” Philip assured him. “At least, I don’t think so—”
“What do you mean you don’t think so?” Griffin’s voice boomed inside the vehicle. Sucking a deep breathe in, he forced himself to calm down. If something was wrong, Claire would have summoned help. Katelyn would be cared for until he reached her. There was no need to yell. Not once in the dozen plus years of being driven by Philip had he raised his voice at the old man. That was his father’s style, not his.
“I didn’t intend to yell.” He smoothed the crease along his slacks. That was all the apology he could offer. Old habits die a hard death and his definitely were still alive and kicking around inside him. “Just tell me Katelyn’s status.”
“She’s home
I mean her home.” The old man rubbed his hands nervously over the top of the steering wheel. “At least I assume that’s where she went after leaving the estate.”
Philip started to put the limo in gear.
“Wait.” Fishing his cell phone out, Griffin dialed the estate and interrogated Claire with as much patience as he could manage with his heart battering the back of his rib cage. She confirmed that Katelyn had requested her clothes, purse and phone, plus a cab to Chicago approximately half an hour after the limo had left the estate’s front gate.
Ending the call with Claire, Griffin scrolled through his phone. He knew Katelyn’s number forward and backward but he couldn’t force his fingers to press the call pad. If there was the slightest chance in hell she would answer, she wouldn’t have left in the first place. She would ignore the call or tell him off and hang up. Then she would be on guard when anyone knocked on her front door.
For the next few hours, while she expected him to be off fucking around, he had a chance she would open her door. And if she opened it, he had a chance, however slim, that she would let him in.
He shoved the phone back in his jacket pocket and grabbed the cologne. He spritzed a small amount into his hand then rubbed at his face and jacket to erase Amanda’s scent. Replacing the bottle, he nodded at Philip.
“Take me to her.”
**********
Stomach growling and her foot propped on a pillow, Katelyn rested on her living room couch. Waiting for the pizza she had ordered, she kept her mind occupied by picking patterns out on the stucco ceiling above her. Mostly, she tried not to think about Griffin — or the club he had likely gone to.
Five minutes on Google once she returned home had Katelyn convinced that the Martinique he mentioned was Martinique Frost, owner of Century, a very exclusive, high-end private club of unnamed activities. Given that the only online connection between Griffin and the woman was a charity event for domestic abuse, Katelyn had a pretty good idea what went on behind the doors at Century.
Not that she cared one iota what Griffin Montgomery was doing or with whom he was doing it. She had merely been curious. Her curiosity satisfied, she had moved on to staring at the ceiling after ordering pizza.
On cue with another loud growl from Katelyn’s stomach, the doorbell rang. She called out for the delivery guy to wait as she hobbled toward the door. Claire had tried to convince her to take the cane, but Griffin hadn’t sent Philip merely to the local pharmacy or grocery store for a cane. He had sent him to an antique dealer. She was not about to leave the Montgomery estate with a several hundred dollar cane. She had enough problems
to deal with, she didn’t need a criminal complaint against her added to the list.
“One more second, please.” Katelyn grabbed the money she had placed on the entry table earlier then reached for the door handle. Awkwardly balancing on her left foot, she opened the door.
In front of her stood one very wet billionaire, his expression unreadable despite the illuminating glow of the exterior light. She started to slam the door but he slid his fingers around the frame.
She could shut the door, but not without injuring him.
Katelyn reflexively yanked the knob toward her. The solid wood door flew backward too fast to avoid. With Katelyn still balancing on her left foot, the door connected with her right ankle. Pain shot through the joint and her hand dropped from the knob. She teetered, her arms straining forward for balance as her body tilted precariously backward. A dozen calculations ran through her brain on how she could possibly avoid putting any weight on her right foot without falling and pulling half of the entry room furniture onto the floor with her.
Griffin didn’t wait for her to finish the calculations. He curled one arm along her back and gripped the far side of her waist. With the other arm, he took her knees out from under her and lifted. Kicking the door shut, he carried Katelyn into the front room.
He placed her on the couch, his chest hovering over hers when he should have been pulling away.
Katelyn pushed at his chest. “Leave, now!”
Ignoring her protest, he looked for a place to sit, then sank into her reading chair. His gaze landed on the small lamp on the table next to the chair. A genuine Tiffany Studios piece from the turn of the last century, an ivory shell shade curled over a bronze base. With a value of eight thousand dollars or more, the lamp was out of place in the rented hovel of an unemployed charity worker.
So was its twin on the bedroom stand.
Confusion wrinkled Griffin’s brow for an instant, then he looked at her. “Your mother’s, I’d wager.”
Katelyn’s lips parted, a huff of air leaving them as her mouth contorted. She forced a smile and pointed to the door. “Fantastic guess. Today’s prize is a free ride out of this neighborhood in a limo. Now leave.”