She felt terrible. The last time she had seen Mrs. Parkerson, she had told Rayka about the lovely brown and silvery blue theme in her master suite. She wouldn’t do neon lime and cranberry if someone put a shotgun in her mouth and threatened to pull the trigger. I am going to hell...
“Now, you told me you don’t like the pink and black. That it’s been done to death and that every French stationery or painting has the pink and black and a poodle...”
Her client nodded vigorously, picking at her fingernails without even looking. A habit that drove Rayka nearly to madness. “It’s true. It’s become too cutesy.”
“You have a point,” Rayka said. And she did have a point. Every cartoonish depiction of French fashion had exactly what Mrs. S. described. “So what about the black and maybe this turquoise? It’s very pale. Almost a pastel but not quite. And you don’t see it everywhere. Very small, dainty polka dots. Some stripes. Pinstripes to be exact. Maybe a white wrought iron chair at your dressing table. White wood would be good. A large mirror in front with a shelf or two hung over the mirrored surface...”
“What is it, Rayka?” Mrs. S. asked. She was fingering the lavender version of Rayka’s first fabric choice. She did have a love of all things purple. Lavender was technically purple, but not shock-me purple as Mildred would have chosen.
“Nothing. Nothing at all,” she said. But she had just realized she was basing her design on the very Parisian décor of the candy shop. Inspiration and orgasms all in one stop. She let out a high little giggle and quickly covered her mouth with her hands. It was official. This was the deep end, and she had just gone off of it.
“What’s so funny?” her client asked.
“Nothing. I am a little tired. I think it’s sleep deprivation,” she lied through her teeth. No panties... he had said. He wanted her to show up for dinner with no panties. And then what? What would he do to her? Would he do it right there in the restaurant? Would he wine and dine her and then pin her up against the wall of the alley in the dirt and grime? Would he ply her with liquor and hike up her dress and fuck her against the hood of his car? No panties and then what?
“You don’t look well, dear. You’re all flushed. Do you have a fever?” Mrs. Shapiro put a cool hand to her forehead. Older women’s hands were always cool, Rayka thought, out of the blue.
Her pussy was thumping in time with her racing heart. She realized that any of those scenarios would do. She would let him do anything to her. Take her anywhere. The sudden realization that she would rule her business with an iron fist but let a virtual stranger fuck her in a dirty alley did it to her all over again. Another high, nearly whistling giggle slipped out.
“I think you should go home and go to bed,” Mrs. Shapiro said, turning maternal all of the sudden.
Maybe later. After dinner. Dinner with no panties. And a quick lay in the alley. Or up against a car... Rayka shook her head to force the crazy thoughts away.
“I think I’ll do that. Call me if you have any questions. You think about some of these suggestions and we will meet in a day or so.”
She was juggling her bag and her book and her swatches, and she was trying to ignore the way her body was nearly humming with the want of this man named Deacon, when Mrs. S. called, “What do you think about red? I’m thinking red for the bedroom, Rayka!”
Dammit. There was the high-pitched giggle again. She hurried out and pretended not to hear. She had to get her head together before dinner.
Chapter 6
Deacon pulled into her driveway. Rayka’s house was small and white with black shutters and a porch swing. Two rather large oaks flanked the front walk, and a small garden was planted at the bottom of the front porch. He took a deep breath and walked up the steps. Deep inside of himself he knew what he really wanted, and it was definitely not dinner at Frederick’s. He wanted to walk her backwards into the house the moment that door opened and he wanted to drape her over the nearest available surface. Didn’t matter. Sofa, butcher block, armchair, anything that would hold her stable while he stripped her bare and then slid into her. Entered her. She’d be wet, he was sure of it.
“Jesus,” he said, and his breath puffed out a little cotton ball of smoke in the cold air. “Get a handle, son.”
His boots sounded like cannon fire going up her wooden steps. He hadn’t dressed up. Frederick’s was casual to say the least. He hoped Rayka had, though. He wanted to see what kind of clothing came to mind when she thought of him. It said a lot. Cotton said less than silk. Wool not as much as satin. Soft and slippery and colorful said, ‘Touch me.’ An invitation she would not have to extend twice.
Deacon ignored the knocker and rapped the red wooden door with his fist. The door was cottage style. Wide planks of wood, rounded at the top. It was painted a cranberry. He expected Little Red Riding Hood to answer his knock. She did.
“Hi, you’re early!” she said blushing. Her dress was red, and she was draping a red, hooded cape over the spectacular garment that hugged her every curve.
Deacon swallowed hard. His throat felt stuffed full of cotton, and his head felt muddied. All he saw was red fabric, lush curves and now, peaked nipples. She was watching him watch her and reacting physically to his gaze.
“Drop the cape,” he managed.
She untied the small black ribbon at her throat, and the draped fabric fell to the floor with an intimate whisper.
“Turn around,” he growled.
She spun without a word, like a ballerina in a music box. His cock grew hard at her obedience. She practically panted to submit, but did she know? Was she aware? She would be by the end of the night.
She was barely breathing. He watched the slow, shallow breaths move her rib cage in and out. He pushed her mass of honey-blonde hair to the side and watched the nape of her neck pebble with goose bumps. Anticipation and excitement radiated off of her in waves. So did anxiety. She was uncertain. He placed his lips at the very base of her neck. She smelled like warm cinnamon and sweet flowers. He nipped her lightly with his teeth and she let out a small, surprised sound and jumped.
“Shhhh. Just a moment more and then we’ll go out.”
Rayka settled just a bit but he could feel the tension in her body. He liked it. On guard but excited. He slid his fingers over her shoulders, listening to his calluses rasp on the smooth fabric. Touch me, her outfit said. So he did. He slid his tongue down the side of her throat into the hollow above her shoulder. She moaned.
“I like that sound. I like when you lose it for me. Like last night on the phone.”
He heard her suck in a little puff of air. Embarrassed, he was sure. Her cheeks would be a lovely shade of red, her eyes downcast. His hands traced the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips, and then she sighed, long and low. He winced as his cock grew harder still. This would be the longest dinner he had ever endured, he was sure of it.
“What’s this?” he said and he let just a bit of steel creep into his voice.
Rayka jumped and said nothing. Her moans and sighs and happy sounds had deserted her. Deacon snapped the thin elastic band with his fingers. The sound, even muffled by the dress, was sharp. The strike of elastic on skin sounded painful.
“I—”
He snapped it again, harder, and she yelped. She moved to step away from him, and he clamped a hand on her shoulder and steadied her there. She stilled. Rayka didn’t fight him or protest. She simply stopped in her tracks, panting for air.
“I told you no panties,” he said directly into her ear. Her back was ramrod straight, her breasts rising and falling briskly. He could almost smell the worry coming off of her.
“I didn’t think that—”
“I was serious? I would care? Really. Come now, Rayka, tell me that to my face. Tell me you thought I was joking. That I’d be fine with you disobeying me.”
Deacon spun her to face him and there they were. Those twin blotches of color on her cheeks as if she had been smacked. “I didn’t feel okay. I felt weird. Ashamed. Embarras
sed. Whatever you want to call it.”
“Scared? Unsure?” he rasped.
She nodded. Eyes downcast, hands worrying at her sides.
“Do you want to go to dinner with me?”
She nodded. “Oh, yes.”
“Do you want me to fuck you? After dinner. Like we both know is planned?”
“I—”
“What? Speak up. You what?” Now he let the animal out of its cage. He didn’t pull any punches or soften his voice. He let her see how he could be when he wasn’t pleased. He would never hurt her, but he would put her in her place. She had to know that now.
“Yes. Yes, I do.” She dropped her head, studied her shoes.
Deacon bent and hiked up her skirt. No preamble or warning. He lifted it briskly and didn’t allow himself the distraction of a long, tanned thigh or the small triangle-shaped shadow beneath the nearly translucent thong. He doubted the scrap could even qualify as panties. He grabbed one slender band and yanked. The elastic snapped with a small pop. Then he ripped the other band and the thong slid to the floor without a sound.
Rayka watched, eyes wide, and then silently stepped over her ruined panties. Her black heel caught briefly, and she kicked the scrap away. “I’m sorry, Deacon,” she said. Her lips looked bruised from biting them.
He kissed her roughly and then dropped to his knees. He planted his mouth over a small welt where the broken elastic had snapped back against her pale skin.
Rayka sucked in a breath when his tongue touched her skin. Deacon could tell by the way she shifted her thighs that she was wet, ready. That she was fighting the rising urgency. He knew because he felt it too.
Deacon kissed gently over her hipbone for just a moment and then smoothed her dress down over her naked body. He kissed her neatly trimmed pubic hair though the fabric and fought the primal urge to drag her to the ground and fuck her right there. Not now. Later. He could wait and she would have to.
She teetered a bit on her heels and he steadied her. Then he helped her with her cape. “That was a freebie. Next time you disobey me, there’ll be more than a ruined pair of panties. Understood?”
She nodded.
“Say it, Rayka.”
“I understand, Deacon. I won’t disappoint you.”
“Good girl. Now let’s eat.”
Chapter 7
Rayka climbed in when Deacon held the car door for her. She gathered her dress carefully under her as she sat. She was terrified she would leave her moisture on his seat. Then again, she was terrified she would leave a tell-tale wet spot on her dress. It was really a no-win situation. She gave in to the urge to shift and found it just made it worse. She clenched her thighs together, but the tightening motion only served to fuel the arousal she felt.
When he had grazed her with his teeth, raised his voice, ripped her panties—God. What was wrong with her? Instead of angering her, it made her feel an overwhelming pleasure between her legs. Her belly fluttered. Her cheeks flushed. She was not her normal, bossy, take-charge Rayka. Before him, she became a blushing, stuttering, woman who’s pussy got wet when he ripped her panties from her body.
Her heart was still trying to get back its normal rhythm. She studied him as he drove. The harsh set of his jaw and the stern look on his face. Briefly, she saw in her mind her head in his lap. She saw herself unzipping his jeans and taking him in her mouth. She could almost feel his big hand pushing her lower and faster, roughly. He would be rough. She knew it. And that only made the wetness seeping from her that much worse. She wanted to know what he smelled like. What the skin of his cock tasted like.
“Never in public,” she said and waited. How would he react? “Not so that anyone can tell, at least.”
He nodded. “I can live with that.”
“Why did you do that? Last night. Why did you call me and then make me—”
He barked laughter. “Make you? You didn’t want to come?” He took the corner harshly and Rayka felt herself slide a bit on the leather seats. The silky sound and the stimulation had her pulse up again. God, she was so turned on—just the thought of his hand on her made her feel like she might come.
Deacon read her mind and put his hand on her thigh. He slid her dress up a bit and stroked her thigh with his big hand. Her thigh-high stocking rolled down just a bit as he stroked her leg. She bit her tongue, determined not to moan. The way he made her feel was fine, but she had to have a few scant rules to cling to. His effect was even more than fine—new and scary but exciting, too. But she had to have a bit of say. Right?
“I wanted to see if you would. I wanted to see if you would fight the way you feel with me.” His voice was soft but his face was still stern. The oncoming headlights lit up his face in stark relief. She could see his stubble and wondered what it would feel like on the inside of her thighs. Sliding over the small of her back or along the fragile skin of her ass. Would he give her burns? And if he did, would he do it on purpose?
“How is that?” she managed. His finger had worked below the elastic and was forcing it down a bit. He slid his hand back some and dragged her dress up with his wrist.
“Submissive.”
“I do no—” she started and then swallowed the rest of her words. Even she could tell she was lying.
“You have to. It’s part of me. I’m not a monster. I’m not a jerk. I’m not a slave driver, but I am dominant. It’s my way. Always have been. I accept it in me. I also accept that I am insanely attracted to a woman with a submissive streak. I could smell it on you when you walked in the candy store.”
“No,” she breathed, but she was fascinated. “I’m so—”
“In charge? In control? The boss, self-sufficient, independent, strong,” he rattled them all off even as his palm climbed higher on her thigh. The warm air from the dashboard heat vent slid up her leg like a phantom tongue. The heat felt unbelievably tactile to her. Fuzzy minded, she tried to focus on his words.
“Yes. All of those things. I got fired for speaking my mind too honestly, for goodness sake.”
“Yes, and with me, you can let all that go. That’s the attraction.”
“But you ripped my panties and yelled at me. And I—”
“Got off on it. Wanted me. Felt arousal from me dressing you down.”
Rayka thought about lying. She dropped her head and sighed and then he did it. He plunged two thick fingers into her wet pussy and stroked her quickly before she could think. Rayka let out a low cry of pleasure and instinctively slid low in her seat, her thighs splaying a bit wider. “See. You are wetter than wet. That’s from me making you obey me. Punishing you. And it was only a small punishment, Rayka. Nothing, really.”
His dark eyes found hers as he slowed the car. Again, he flexed those fingers and a warm ripple of pleasure worked through her cunt. “Oh, God.”
“Not God. But the boss, yes,” He laughed. One more flex and he pulled free of her. She made a sad little sound.
“Open,” he demanded, and she did. He slid his fingers into her waiting mouth and she gently tasted herself. Something she had never done. “Good?”
Rayka nodded, feeling this act warm her further. Make her want to beg. No dinner. None of that. She knew what she wanted. They could skip the hour or so of make-believe. She stopped and he leaned in, his lips touching her ear. “All of it.”
He entered the parking lot and pulled into a spot. Rayka continued to clean his fingers, taking in the rich yet sweet taste of herself. “Do you taste good, Rayka?” he asked. She could only nod. “Let’s see.”
Deacon turned her head and kissed her deeply. Roughly. His tongue brushed and bullied hers. It felt like he would bruise her, and yet under it was an intense sweetness to the kiss. A consuming nature as if he wanted to eat her whole. Absorb her. Consume her.
“Fuck,” he said against her lower lip.
Rayka laughed. It was the first moment he had seemed even remotely vulnerable.
“I taste good?”
“Yes. And later, I’ll know that
by tasting you between your thighs. That sweet pussy.”
Rayka shuddered at him saying such things out loud. No one had ever spoken to her that way before. No one had ever said that word to her.
“And then you’ll suck my cock.”
Or that word. Rayka sighed and nodded. It was all she could do. Nod, nod, nod. Yes, Deacon.
“Never in public, please,” she said. What would she do if he said no? She wasn’t sure.
“I don’t need it to be that way,” he said. And got out. He opened her door and helped her out. When she turned, he put a possessive hand at the small of her back to guide her. “But you will get on your knees for me and do what I say when we get home, Rayka. Just so you know.”
She shivered and closed her eyes to center herself. She found her voice despite her thundering heart. “Yes, Deacon.”
Deacon laughed. He took a swig of his Sam Adams and popped a shrimp puff in his mouth. “So, you lied your sweet ass off and told the client from hell that her arch-nemesis was using her color scheme.”
Rayka snorted and covered her nose and blushed. “Yes. I did. I know, I’m going to hell. That poor woman would no sooner use lime and cranberry together than she would run stark naked down Belair Road. But all’s fair in love and war and this is war. I don’t do ugly.”
Rayka’s phone rang and she started to flip it open. A habit. She always, always, always answered her phone no matter what. But in a flash of deference she glanced at Deacon, who nodded. Then she popped it open and said softly, “Hello?” She could feel his eyes on her. On her cleavage, on the way the red fabric clung to her waist and hips. She blushed and played with a strand of her hair to calm her nerves.
“Rayka! I need you to come to my party tomorrow night. Seven o’clock sharp. Don’t be late.”
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