by Bailey, Orla
His momentary surprise transforms rapidly into a look of gentle amusement. “I don’t hit women. I thought we’d established that.”
My heart pounds right out of my chest and I’m positively hauling oxygen. “What are you doing?”
“Bringing down the tension a little.”
Sex? In the red dress? “Now?”
“Are we good to go?”
I nod my permission as first his lips descend to mine and he kisses me. It’s soft and done with infinite care but he doesn’t stay long enough, pulling us apart. I reach out my arms to draw him back to me again.
“No, Tabby. I want you to concentrate on what’s important.” Jack stares at me. His words have me melting. I read all sorts of meaning into everything.
I swallow convulsively. What is happening to me feels earthy and real. Jack’s fingers and eyes trail slowly down the length of my neck but are stopped, frustratingly by the bodice of my gown. I shift myself so he can remove it.
“The dress stays on.” He slides it half way up my thighs instead, stopping to caress my bare flesh as he exposes it and I murmur with the pleasure of his touch on me.
I reach for his belt. He stops me, his hands impeding mine. “This isn’t it, kitten. This is not the right time. I will determine when things are right between us.”
“But I want you,” I plead.
“Not the way I want you to.” He presses a few quick buttons on a keypad and I recognise the strains of I Want To Know What Love Is by Foreigner, drifting through the sound system. Its haunting melody and disturbing lyrics twist my mind into knots trying to read his message. But in my oxygen deprived haze and with my sensually aroused body, I don’t understand what he wants me to know.
Carefully but firmly he takes hold of my wrists and I look down at his hand on me. I clutch a cuff-link in each palm and tighten my fists around them. I try to wrench my hands back from Jack’s in a final show of perverse resistance but his easy strength prevents me. He tugs me decisively and I can’t believe what’s happening but everything slows and distorts as I tilt and turn and fall face down across his knee. He holds me there with a firm hand planted squarely in the centre of my back, pressing me flat over his hard, hot thighs.
Oh, God. He lied. He is going to spank me. At first the shock immobilises me. Then I struggle. I don’t know what is happening.
“You need me to do this for you.” His voice is composed and measured. “Unless you tell me not to and I will stop.”
I need you. My frantic mind flies back to when I was barely eighteen. I’d begged him to take my virginity after a particularly nasty panic attack when I thought I was going to die without ever knowing Jack’s body loving mine. He held my shaking frame, soothing me, talking me down from my desperation. My near death. Helping me. And I’d misjudged his intentions; thought he felt about me the way I felt about him. That he’d understood every heightened emotion simmering in the depths of my adolescent mind, my touch-trigger body and in that one intensified moment, I begged him. I threw myself at him. He’d been horrified by the misunderstanding, by my easy virtue. He’d extricated his body from mine and I will remember that look on his face until the day I die. When I destroyed every last atom of my self-respect.
He isn’t horrified now. He’s resolute.
Jack drags the gown up over my back until I feel a draught of cool air on my thighs and behind. I picture the tiny red thong as Jack must see it, exposing the roundness of my buttocks. He curls one huge hand round my hip and tucks me squarely into his body to prevent me slipping and falling.
I shove back with my fists on the black leather seat rearing up. At the same time I twist sideways forcing him to grasp hard to hold on to me. I feel his hand smooth itself all over my posterior. He hitches my panties tighter then slips his fingers straight underneath them to the core of me.
I’m immobilised with surprise.
As his fingers move, the soft caress directed at the most sensitive part of my being overtakes me. Embarrassment floods my body at what he’s doing to me but I can’t prevent a moan as he makes soothing sounds and gentles his touch even more. I sense how fluidly he moves through the slickness of me, ever ready for Jack. My legs part and my hips begin to rock of their own accord inviting penetration.
Somewhere in my misty state I hear Jack groan quietly and realise the reaction to this moment is not just mine. His stiffness is hidden just out of reach beneath me and I don’t know if it’s generosity or devilment on my part that makes me rub myself against him.
“If you don’t stop doing that, I’m going to stop doing this.” His words are bitten out, stilted and controlled. To emphasise my potential losses he circles his fingers sending a delicious tremor coursing through my body. Then stills.
“Don’t stop.” I’m straining towards my pleasure now. “More.”
I lie as passively as I can, only jerking when the exquisite tenderness of his caress becomes a little too much to handle. My eyes close and everything inside me is centred on the sensations Jack teases from my body. He parts my thighs more to increase the angle and pressure of his hand.
“Your body is so pretty, kitten.”
I can no longer maintain this unnatural stillness. Or censor my sounds. It’s a physical impossibility each time I’m almost at the pinnacle to which he swiftly raises me. Before slowing and forcing me to descend again, making the next route up shorter but harder and more torturously out of reach. I’m ready to beg him once more.
“Take me there, Jack. Please.” What I seek is only just beyond me.
“Soon,” he tells me, tormenting me with such a little word. “I’m so hungry for you.”
One final deft caress and I detonate. I jerk, shudder and cry out his name as I come so hard, my muscles cramp tight and pulsate. Over and over, on top of his thighs he brings me perfectly to fulfilment, the only thing missing is his body inside mine.
Having held me on the edge for so long, complete exhaustion overwhelms me. I relax, feeling all the tension flow away. Jack’s grip on me softens. He rubs his hand gently over my flesh and I know it’s ridiculous in the circumstances but I feel safe here in his arms. I’ve turned into a docile creature in the space of twenty minutes. I think it must be endorphins.
“You’re calmer now. Breathing more normally – under the circumstances.” He half laughs. I pant as my body begins its slow descent.
Jack seems calmer too, I think. My body rocks gently back and forth as he inhales and exhales beneath me. My heart rate slows to near normal. He pulls my dress down and helps to right me but I keep my eyes forward, not certain I can look him in the eye. Not certain how I feel about any of this. Or about him.
“How are you feeling?” he asks. He might even sound like he cares.
“Fine.” I’m still not looking.
“Look at me.”
Do I have to? I’m only just holding it together.
“Tabitha, I said look at me.” He’s still as bossy as ever.
I sigh but turn and face him. My eyes feel like saucers. His lock onto them. They have a warmer look to them. The Arctic ice flow is gone. Touching me that way has clearly improved more than my mood.
Without warning I start to cry. I can’t stop. Jack scoops me up, pulling me onto his lap where he wraps me in his arms and holds me firmly against his chest as I snuggle in close to ride out the storm in a safe port. He lets me get it all out of my system. When I’m done he pulls a huge linen handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to me. I wipe my eyes marvelling at the waterproof nature of the mascara I’m wearing. They could coat ships in it.
“Feel any better?” he asks.
I nod and sniff.
“Ready to face the world again?”
Surprisingly I am. After this I find I couldn’t give a toss about the terrors of grand balls and business and red dresses. I know the euphoria won’t last but right now, I feel perfectly fine. Except for the residual buzz where his fingers have been I could almost believe I’d merely had another
dream.
“Ready.”
Jack reaches into his pocket for his phone and makes a call. Within a few minutes, Blackstock comes jogging back up the road to the car. By the time he arrives, Jack’s sleeves are back down, his bow-tie hand tied and his jacket on again. I’m grateful. Blackstock doesn’t need to know what went down between us, although he must have his suspicions. My body is loose and my reflection in the window reveals a look of calm satisfaction on my face, tinged with a shameful blush. I don’t care about either.
As the car does a one hundred and eighty, Jack holds out his hand, palm up. At first I think he’s showing me the trouble I have caused him. After a beat I realise he’s requesting the return of his cufflinks. I open my super clenched fists and he takes them off me one at a time. He lifts my empty palms to his lips one by one and kisses away the livid red marks and indentations, scored into my skin. I feel branded by karma in more ways than one.
I glance at him to wonder if the moment has had a strange effect on him too. He doesn’t seem anywhere near as annoyed as before. He’s racing with testosterone. Hotter than ever.
“I don’t suppose there’s any point reminding you I’m actually wearing the red dress, is there?” I can’t believe how aroused I still feel. I’m betting he must be close to the edge too. It’s my best chance.
“None whatsoever.” His expression is amused condemnation. He leans in and whispers. “I’ll decide.”
I’m half inclined to change his mind though.
He cups the back of my head and pulls me towards him, dropping a swift soft kiss on my easily parted lips. “Calmer?”
“Yes.” In one sense. One whole hell of a lot less in another. I’m still throbbing.
“We have a ball to attend,” he reminds me, reading the signals on my face. “Ready to face the world again?”
“Some of it.”
I’d forgotten about the dancing and networking but, at the moment, I couldn’t give two figs, as long as Jack stays close beside me. I’m centred after my panic attack and his remedy and the thought makes me smile. I’ve definitely overdosed on endorphins.
As we draw level with the red carpet for the second time this evening, the poor doorman approaches the car warily. I don’t blame him. I’ve seen first-hand Jack’s ability to change from Jekyll to Hyde. The former runs his hand down my back in a soothing gesture of support. When it reaches my rear end, the latter leans in and whispers. “You look hot.”
I wonder if he means it in a totally different way to me.
Jack moves past to exit first then reaches his hand back for mine. Paparazzi explode all around us as soon as we alight from the car. I cringe and narrow my eyes against the bright lights, staggering back in initial surprise. Jack catches me by the elbow as I hang back. They want as much as they can get of Jack Keogh and I don’t want to get in their way. Voices call his name and he turns obligingly a couple of times so photographers on both sides can work.
“Who’s the lady?” one journalist shouts.
I look to see which lady he’s referring to.
“Tabitha Caid. The incredible new CEO of CaidCo Advertising.” Jack speaks with an authority no-one can ignore. Except me perhaps but I’m learning to pay attention.
“Didn’t Zee-Com just end ties with CaidCo?”
“Gentlemen, ladies,” Jack purrs back at them, completely unfazed. “Do I look like I’m doing business? I’m here to have fun.” He gifts them one of his amazing smiles and I expect to see that picture on the front cover of every Sunday newspaper by morning, along with his self-generated headline: Here to Have Fun.
Everybody laughs.
I stare at him in awe. He winks and looks at me as if I’m the most amazing thing he’s ever set eyes on but I realise he’s in full public persona. It’s his job. He pulls me hard against him.
“Why did you tell them who I am?” I whisper.
He laughs. “They asked me. Smile for the cameras, Tabby. Show them how incredible you are.”
I scoff. I know it’s not me they’re interested in. Not around the blue-eyed immortal.
“Tabitha,” one of the reporters calls from behind. I turn instinctively at the sound of my name and a flash goes off in my face.
Damn I wasn’t ready. I can’t see for a second as a billion little lights dance before my eyes.
“Over here, Miss Caid.”
Jack whirls me round and puts an arm around my waist. As soon as they realise they’re getting two for the price of one a mini frenzy begins. We spend several minutes, with Jack pulling me this way and that, telling me to close my mouth and smile. He never stops charming the journalists as they chat to him. I wish I could have the same effect on him. Out of the public eye, he spends more time scowling at me than smiling. Perhaps that’s the secret: never be alone with Jack Keogh. It’s a depressing thought.
I hear the question I’ve been dreading. “What’s with the red dress?”
My fearful eyes fly to Jack’s.
“Mouth,” he reminds me in a whisper, dropping a brief kiss to my temple. I snap it shut. He grants me a briefly reassuring nod and gathers me beside him in such a powerful grip I have no choice but to stand shoulders back, head high.
Unused to wearing clothes like this, I’m conscious my cleavage is disgustingly on display in this gown, especially in public. And, as I’ve just been reminded, it’s red. I start to sag again as it overwhelms me. Try to make myself look smaller. Lower my chin. What is it with this dress?
“This is Miss Caid’s first ball and I think every woman should go to her first ball in an amazing red dress, don’t you?”
“Well said, mate. She’s a stunner.”
Jack laughs at the reporter’s words and laughs even more when I burn with a lot of embarrassment and a little bit of pride.
“Told you, didn’t I?” Jack says. He’s not above pointing out when he’s right.
It seems like a hundred lights pop at once. I stare at Jack in amazement. He’s made sure I’ll be on every front page beside him. This year, at least, it’ll be me. I decide, then and there, they can bury me in this red dress. I love it.
A couple of women in the crowd sigh. They think he’s romantic. I find myself sighing too, at the injustice. I swear he reads my thoughts as he gives me his Look until I quickly adopt a happier but neutral expression.
“Ladies. Gentlemen.” Jack offers them the full blown Keogh killer countenance. A lot more cameras flash, a few more women drool, then he turns and draws me with him to the bottom of the stairs. And that, I realise, is the way to handle media. Another lesson learned.
Half the women out there would give their eye-teeth to be standing where I am, in a red Valentino gown, tucked in the shelter of Jack Keogh’s arms. They don’t know the half of it though. I click my tongue and roll my eyes.
Jack halts halfway up the stairs and looks at me. “Want to share?” he asks.
“No, Jack,” I walk on and he catches up in a stride.
“You will stay right beside me all night,” he advises, pointing to his side.
“What if I need the restroom?”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Special dispensation. The only one.”
At this rate I’m going to need a Papal Bull to take a pee.
Jack produces the invitation from inside his jacket at the top of the stairs and hands it to security. I wonder where I dropped it. They tick us off their list and wish us a pleasant evening. I can already see people doing a double take at my dress and want to die. No-one says a word though. I suspect it’s more to do with having Jack there than either common politeness or apathy to the insult.
Looking at the scowls on some women’s faces, at the interest we’re eliciting, I could almost believe they wished they’d thought of it first. I wonder what Jack would do to me if I persuaded one of them to swap.
“I think I might enjoy myself tonight,” Jack announces.
I expect it to be a complete disaster and I haven’t even stepped inside. It’s funny how
different two people’s perspectives can be. But then Jack isn’t inappropriately attired, out of place or waiting to make an utter spectacle of himself.
I snort trying to imagine Jack doing that. His hand rests gently on my backside, a reminder to behave. I wriggle my hips to remove it but he sticks. Who needs a collar?
“Okay, Jack,” I implore just before we enter the main ballroom. “I get the message.”
“Everything you do will be seen by someone. Don’t forget that.”
I decide if I’m quiet and as unobtrusive as possible, doing nothing to draw attention to myself, I can endure the evening.
Jack stares for a moment. “Ready?”
I nod and swallow back my fears.
“You look so sexy I’m already hard for you.”
I’m speechless as the salon doors open and I’m hit with the wave of sound and heat. That still doesn’t stun me half as much as Jack’s proclamation. He has to positively haul me inside behind him because I’m rooted to the spot.
He leans over and speaks close to my ear over the music and the conversation. “For once I won’t have to spend the evening diplomatically fending off hostile takeovers from other men’s wives.” He smirks at me.
I throw a look back. “If I’d have realised I was on guard detail, I’d have strapped a pistol to my thigh.”
“Mmm. That’s a sexy image I’m going to keep seeing over and over.”
A mob of people descend on us. On Jack, to be fair. Everyone knows him or wants to. He keeps moving me forward into the crowd. I don’t know how he does it. Already I feel like dropping to my knees and crawling between the sea of legs to find some quiet corner to hole up in until they’ve all gone away.
He takes it in his stride. He’s polite, charming but assertive. He doesn’t allow anyone to commandeer his time or attention more than any other, although many try. Especially the females. I can see they wonder what someone like me is doing with a man as remarkable as him. Before long I’m beginning to feel the effects of all those scathing looks I get behind his back and more than a few carefully veiled comments that a woman picks up on immediately but often goes straight over a man’s head. Soon enough I’m feeling jealous and insignificant.