by Talia Hunter
Ally ran her hands down the sides of the corset, admiring the hourglass shape it gave her. Barry had complained that her breasts sagged, but they looked good pushed up in the corset. She looked like a dancer from The Folies Bergère. She struck a pose with one hand on her hip, then another with her hands under her chin, leaning forward to show off the rounded tops of her breasts spilling from the low-cut corset. Man, she really didn’t recognize herself. And imagine if Barry could see her. He’d drop dead from shock.
Yeah, she liked this new Ally. This Ally wouldn’t take crap from anyone, let alone a monster like Barry.
She leaned forward and pursed her lips. Red lipstick, that’s what she needed. She had a dark red shade that would be the perfect finishing touch. She found it and slicked it on, enjoying the way her hips swayed when she walked in the high heels. Hadn’t Cora been wearing red lipstick in the recording? And she’d worn her hair piled up on her head. Ally gathered hers up and pinned it. Yes, that was it. Now she looked like she was ready to order a man to kneel between her thighs and lick her until she screamed with pleasure.
Ally looked far too risqué for Max to see her like this. And she felt too aroused to hide herself away.
Impulsively she reached for a long gathered skirt and pulled it on over the corset, fastening it around her drawn-in waist. Now the corset was like a sexy, low-cut top. Suggestive, but not too blatant, and Max wouldn’t be able to tell she was practically naked underneath. Would she really dare to walk out like this? Dinner would be ready any minute, and delicious smells were wafting through the house. If she wore this outfit to dinner, would it drive Max crazy? She grinned at herself in the mirror, imagining his expression. If only he knew she wasn’t wearing any underwear. Well, maybe she’d get her dominatrix groove on, and he’d get to find out.
She gave herself one last, long look in the mirror, with her back straight and her chin lifted. This Ally wasn’t a wimp. This Ally took what she wanted without flinching. She left her room. Her high heels clicked on the hallway floor, her long skirt swished around her legs, and the cool air tickled the dampness between her legs. Not wearing any panties felt deliciously wicked. Where was Max? He’d better be ready for her, because this Ally wanted to be bad.
# # #
Max heard Ally’s heels clacking on the tiles while he was pouring sauce on the chicken breasts, but he was too busy to turn around. He hadn’t cooked a meal this elaborate in a while, but it had turned out perfectly.
“Great timing.” He ladled vegetables onto plates. “I’m dishing up. Hope you like chicken with—” He turned, a full dinner plate in each hand, and saw her. Hot damn. He fumbled the plates, recovered, and put them on the breakfast bar before he dropped them.
She looked incredible. Gorgeous. And she reminded him of Cora, which made him think about being between her legs. Hell, he was getting aroused just looking at her. Her smooth, rounded breasts were pushing up from her top like they were demanding to be let out, and the sight was incredibly sexy. Her chin was tilted up, and the color of her eyes made him wonder if she could be as turned on as he suddenly felt.
“You’re stunning,” he said.
Her cheeks flushed, which made her look even sexier, but she didn’t acknowledge the compliment. “Smells good.” She nodded at the countertop.
He tore his gaze from her with an effort, and looked down at the plates. Dinner. Yeah, that’s right. But he wasn’t hungry anymore, at least not for food. He’d far rather taste her luscious red lips and then kiss his way down her long neck to her breasts. Or maybe she’d prefer him to start at her ankles like he did last time, and lick his way up her legs. He’d be happy either way.
She slid onto one of the bar stools. “We’ll eat here. It’s a little friendlier than moving to the dining room, don’t you think?”
Friendlier? He was aching to show her how friendly he could be, and there was a swollen area in his jeans that was feeling particularly chummy. He shifted uncomfortably and turned back to the pantry to adjust himself.
“Everything okay?” She sounded amused, like she knew exactly what effect she was having on him. She’d obviously dressed like Cora deliberately and knew his mind would jump to ripping off her skirt. Was she wearing stockings like Cora had been? Shit, was she wearing panties? He reached up to grab a bottle from the top shelf and made another adjustment.
“Great.” He forced his voice to sound offhand. “Would you like some wine?”
“Sounds good.”
He poured her a glass, set out cutlery and a beer for himself, and then took the stool next to her. They were much closer at the kitchen counter than if they’d moved to the dining table. Her bare shoulder and the kissable sweep of her neck were tantalizingly near, and he could barely tear his eyes away from the curve of her breasts. He caught a whiff of her perfume over the scent of the food and clenched his teeth, fighting the urge to grab her and pull her against him. Hell’s teeth, was she trying to kill him?
She made a show of tasting the chicken. “It’s delicious.”
“Thank you.”
She lifted another forkful to her mouth, and he watched her lips close around it with envy. How he’d love to feel those full lips around a certain part of his anatomy. She chewed slowly and swallowed with obvious relish.
“You’re not eating?” She arched one eyebrow at his untouched plate.
Her question snapped him from his trance, and he had to laugh at himself. Had he really been ogling her like a teenager? He was used to being around beautiful women, so how come Ally had the power to empty his brain and supercharge his pulse? He needed to pull himself together. She was a paid professional, not someone he was dating. With only a few days to prepare for the part, he couldn’t afford to get distracted.
“I am.” He took a bite and was pleased at how it tasted. Moist and rich, with subtle flavors.
“How did you learn to cook so well?” she asked between mouthfuls.
He took a sip of beer, fighting to keep from examining the intricately threaded corset. Did it have to be unlaced to get it off or was there was another fastening? If he had his way, he’d get to find out. “My mother was no Martha Stewart, so I’ve been cooking most of my life. Then my first year at Julliard I worked part-time as a chef’s assistant to help pay the bills.”
“Isn’t Juliard an acting school? How did you end up becoming a model?”
If he concentrated on her eyes and didn’t let his gaze stray downward, he could hold a conversation without feeling like he was going to burst out of his jeans.
“It was something one of my acting teachers said. He was a great actor, the best I’d ever seen, but when I asked him how come he’d never made it big on screen like he deserved to, he said he’d never caught a lucky break.”
“And that put you off acting?”
“No, not at all. But when I discovered that hard work and talent weren’t necessarily going to be enough, I decided I wasn’t willing to trust my future to luck. So I auditioned for a photo campaign for an up-and-coming designer. I knew that if I worked hard at modeling and got to the top of that profession, doors would open. And if I barged through enough of those doors, one of them would lead to my big break into movies.” He grimaced. “I’ll admit it took a little longer than I expected.”
She gaped at him, her fork halfway to her mouth. “You planned this whole thing years ago?”
He shrugged. “Planning is the only way to get what you want.”
“That’s amazing.” She shook her head slightly, appraising him with real admiration, and it felt good that he’d impressed her.
“Did you plan to become a dominatrix?” he asked.
“I can’t seem to plan anything.” She gave a rueful smile. “And how come you can cook a whole meal without making a mess?” She indicated the kitchen. He’d washed the pots and cleaned up before serving dinner, but that wasn’t so unusual, was it? “You’re impossibly tidy, you schedule all your time, and you organize your life years in advance.”
>
“So?”
“So no wonder you don’t like taking orders. You’re like a Swiss watch, ticking off every second with perfect precision. But from what you’ve told me about Thomas, he was more like a…” She hesitated, searching for a comparison.
“A cuckoo clock?” he suggested.
She laughed. “If you’re ever going to understand him, you’re going to have to unwind your dial. Get a little cuckoo. And you know, I’m the perfect woman to help you out.”
He couldn’t help but smile back. He liked when she was playful. She was so beautiful with the light dancing in her eyes. Her red lipstick was a little faded from eating, but that only made her lips look more enticing.
“Are you sure you’re not overstretching that metaphor?” he asked in a mock-serious voice. “Because cuckoo clocks come from the Black Forest, and Germans are renowned for being very particular with their timekeeping.”
“You know what time it is now?” Before he could glance at the clock over the stove, she answered smugly, “It’s whatever time I say it is. Thomas.” She emphasized the name so it was almost a purr.
Max’s heart pounded faster. She was incredibly sexy when she put on that commanding tone. Just once he wanted to let go of this damn obedient act. He burned to press her against the breakfast bar and silence her with his mouth.
She watched him as though she knew exactly what effect she was having on him. When she lifted her fork, a drop of cream sauce fell and landed on her plate. She glanced at it and her lips quirked up. She scooped up another forkful of the sauce, turned her other arm over and let it drip onto her bare wrist. Then she challenged him with those bewitching gray eyes. “Oops. I made a mess,” she said in a teasing voice. “You’d better clean it up.”
He’d been burning to taste her skin and now she was offering him her wrist. He caught it and kept his gaze locked to hers. He lowered his mouth slowly to her skin to lick the cream off. He’d happily dip her in a vat of sauce if it meant he got to eat it off her.
She scooped up some more cream and dripped it onto her elbow. His tongue moved higher in response. His gaze was forced from her eyes to her breasts and his jeans became tight again. Damn, but he liked this game.
She tipped her head back and ran her fork over the tops of her breasts, leaving a trail of sauce for him to follow. He flicked his tongue, lightly at first, following her line across. Then he kissed where the lace finished. Her nipples were only just hidden and he could tell they were hard points. He cupped the lace in his hands, wanting to rip the fabric away.
“No,” she said. Her tone was firm, but her breathing was shallow and her voice was heavy with lust. “You can’t use your hands.”
She pushed his chest and he let her force him back. Dammit, couldn’t she see what she was doing to him? She was driving him insane.
This time when she picked up the fork, she extended her foot and drew up her skirt to the knee. Then she dripped the sauce up the inside of her stockinged ankle.
He knew this game, and as good as it had been the first time, he hoped like hell that this time she wouldn’t hold him back. His cock was already aching, and when he dropped to his knees and tongued the sauce from her stocking the pressure grew. Her legs slowly parted and she lifted her skirt.
Fuck. He groaned aloud, watching her skirt ride past the edge of her stockings to show creamy bare thighs. And then it rose higher still. She wasn’t wearing any panties. The sight of her just about split his jeans open. She lifted the fork again, but he was way past that now. Thomas be dammed, he couldn’t sit back and control himself a moment longer. He wasn’t waiting around for any more orders.
He put his hands around her thighs, gripped them tight, drove his head forward and flicked his tongue lightly across her sex. Instead of protesting that she hadn’t given him permission, her hands grabbed his hair. She held him close, commanding him with her touch. He took a deep breath, relishing the warmth and smell of her, enjoying the view. She was dripping wet, quivering with anticipation and desire. And she was so fucking beautiful.
He used his breath, first blowing a stream of cool air, then puffing a hot exhalation against her, resisting the urge to taste her again. She clenched her hands tighter in his hair and groaned. He blew again, focusing on the most sensitive part of her, until she was tearing at his hair in frustration. Only then did he dance the tip of his tongue oh-so-lightly against her clit, teasing it until she was moaning and he thought she might pull his hair right out. Finally, when he thought she couldn’t stand it any longer, he used deeper broader strokes, tasting her properly, letting her juices fill his mouth. She tasted so good he could barely stand it. He slid a finger into her wet opening, fighting away thoughts of driving himself into her, trying not to let the throbbing in his cock get unbearable. She arched her back and threw one arm behind her. One of the dinner plates went flying and smashed on the tiled floor. Max didn’t stop. He couldn’t even if he’d wanted to - one of her hands was still fisted tight in his hair.
Ally moaned and spread her legs wide, moving to the edge of the stool to give him better access. He licked and sucked her, then slid in another finger. She cried out. Her wine glass dropped off the breakfast bar and shattered. The thought of broken glass flashed briefly through his mind, and was gone. She was wet and open, making small sounds of pleasure. He worked on her clit, first circling it, and then lapping it with his tongue while his fingers plunged into her. Her panting got faster. She felt close to coming. So was he. He was so damn horny he might come in his pants.
Her fingers tightened in his hair. Then she gasped, crying out. Her muscles pulsed with the force of her orgasm. He groaned, imagining his aching shaft inside her as she spasmed.
When she finally shuddered and went still, his chin was slick with her juices.
Her hands fell away from his head. He pulled off his T-shirt and used it to wipe away the moisture. Ally’s eyes played over his naked chest, then dropped to the rock hard bulge in his jeans. Somehow her long hair had fallen down from its bun and hung in tangled coils around her face. Her eyes were bright, and her lips glistened. She looked utterly lovely. Max clenched his hands into fists and his nails dug into his palms.
He might have lost control and forgot his role before, but he was supposed to be Thomas, not Max. He shouldn’t touch her again without permission. He had to ask before running his hands over her creamy skin, or making her groan into his open mouth.
His blood was pounding so hard, the slightest touch might make him come. He’d never been this turned on before. He couldn’t fight it, couldn’t wait for permission. He had to have her.
Fuck being Thomas.
He lunged to his feet. One hand twisted into her messy hair to pull her close, the other cupped her breast.
“No,” she gasped. Then his fingers found her nipple, pushing down the cloth of the corset to flick over it. She moaned and gripped his arms, not to push him away, but clinging to him, her nails cutting into his skin.
He kissed down her long neck, biting and sucking. She brought her legs up and linked them around him, pulling him close while she fought to get the front of his jeans open. Shit, did he have any condoms? Wasn’t there a pack in the bathroom?
He pulled away from her, and she made a sound of protest.
“Condoms.” One word, spoken in a too hoarse voice seemed enough, because she let him go.
Even making sure not to step in the mess of food, wine, and broken glass on the floor, it took him less than a minute to get the pack, but when he came back to the kitchen she’d tugged her skirt back down and pulled the corset top up to hide her nipples. She was still on the chair, but made a move to stand up.
“I didn’t give you permission to touch me.” She was using her dominatrix voice, but a husky tremble took away some of the effect. “You’re not in charge, Thomas. I am. And I decide what happens. You’ll do as you’re told.”
He moved to her and pressed his body as near as he could get without touching her. His fac
e was so close to hers that their breath mingled. He could almost taste her.
“Tell me you want me,” he demanded.
“Thomas.” Her voice was a growl of warning, though her lips were slightly parted, her breath coming fast and her chest moving up and down. Her eyes were so light they were translucent.
He shook his head. “I can’t be Thomas right now. Fuck, Ally, I’m hanging on with everything I’ve got, and I can’t do it.”
She licked her lips, and it took everything he had not to pull her against him and capture her tongue with his.
Her eyes dropped to his jeans. “Show me,” she said hungrily.
He ripped the button and zip open and pushed down his jeans and boxer shorts until his erection sprung free. She groaned aloud, and the sight of her tongue flicking across her lips again made him swell unbearably hard.
“I can’t be Thomas,” he repeated. “I can’t wait for permission.”
“Then touch me.” Her whisper was so faint he could barely hear it. But it was enough.
He pressed against her, pushing her back into the chair with the force of his need. His length thrust against the lace of her corset, the fabric rough against his delicate skin. She ran her hands down his back, and her nails dug into his bare ass cheeks. He bit and sucked her neck, and she trembled against him.
When he lifted his head, her lips were open, glistening, and for a moment he was going to taste them, to cover her mouth with his and devour her. At the last minute he moved his mouth back to her neck instead. He nipped and kissed her smooth skin, hating that she might not want him to kiss her. It made him remember that she wasn’t with him for fun, she was a sex worker earning her keep. If she wasn’t so beautiful and he wasn’t shaking with his need for release, that fact might have made him hesitate.
Max rucked her skirt back up, struggling with the fabric and wanting to tear the damn thing off. He needed to be inside her, a need so strong it felt like nothing he’d ever experienced. Every second of waiting was torture.