by Lila Dubois
“Now you’re just trying to get into my panties. Oh wait, I don’t have any anymore.” Addie raised a brow.
“I’ll get you new ones.”
“Cash will do. Men can’t pick out lingerie.”
“I’ve bought my share of lingerie,” he said, but his attention was still on the car. He tried the door handle, then looked at her with a pleading expression. Addie fished out her keys and gave them to him.
She couldn’t believe she was standing in a sketchy parking lot outside a sound stage in North Hollywood having this conversation with a man who two hours ago had whaled on her ass with a brush. The drive home would not be fun because of that spanking. Even the brush of her skirt against her bare ass wasn’t pleasant.
“Was it black or red lace, crotchless, covered in straps?”
Lane’s head was in the car, stroking the seats, which she’d re-upholstered herself after many broken sewing machine needles. When he didn’t respond, Addie swatted his ass.
He jerked out, whipping around to face her. Their gazes met, held, and for a moment Addie was afraid, but then he smiled, turned back around and wiggled his ass. “Nice arm, hot stuff. And yes, it was mostly black lace. Sexy.”
“No, not sexy. Sexy should be subtle.”
Addie was glad to know he hadn’t been lying when he said the BDSM stayed in the bedroom. She liked him, both the guy who was polishing the chrome on her dash with his sleeve and the man who’d turned her over his knee and shoved a plug up her ass.
“Don’t drool, please.”
“Never, that might mess up her beauty.” With a sigh, Lane got out of her car and gave her back the keys. “El Camino,” he drew the words out in an exaggerated way.
Addie rolled her eyes and sat in the driver’s seat, swinging her feet in.
“Good night, beautiful.”
“Me or the car?”
“The car.”
Addie rolled her eyes and started to close her door. Lane grabbed it, holding it open.
“What is it with you and doors?” she asked.
“Good night, gorgeous. I just thought you should know you’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever had the pleasure of being with, and I’m not just talking about the way you look.”
Time stood still, the night drawing close around them as Addie looked into Lane’s blue eyes, reading the truth of his words there.
“Thank you, for everything. I only wish—” Addie bit down on the words, pushing the thought away.
Lane didn’t pry, he simply nodded. “It was my pleasure.”
“You’ll tell them I need a day? That I’m not coming back tomorrow?”
“I’ll call Emory and let him know to expect you Thursday.”
Addie chewed her lower lip and turned on her car, which purred to life. She didn’t want to think about the next time she’d be back here, so she’d concentrate on getting home and into that bath.
“Good night, Lane.”
“Good night, Addie.”
It was after midnight by the time Addie got out of the tub. Her fingers had turned to prunes and she’d made herself orgasm four times. Her single day with Lane would be the center of her fantasies for a very long time.
A single day with Lane.
With a sigh, Addie twisted her hair up in a towel and set her foot on the counter to apply lotion. She’d met a guy who was nothing like her mental picture of the ideal man—he wasn’t dark, wasn’t rockabilly, wasn’t a musician. He probably couldn’t dance, he was a white-boy computer geek after all, but he was a good guy, a nice guy.
And he’d given her the best sex of her life without getting naked.
After all that, Addie didn’t even have the option of seeing him again, because the only reason he’d had his hands on her was due to the contract they’d both signed. Now that his section was done he was out of the picture, never to be seen again. During the day she’d convinced herself he liked her, but the reality was he was just a nice guy. He’d probably been with plenty of women who were prettier, skinnier and less trouble than her.
“Get over it, Addie,” she said as she turned her back to the mirror and inspected her ass. A few pale bruises had started to show. “Maybe the next guy, Emory, will rock your world just as hard and then you can have a crush on him.”
The doorbell rang.
Addie jumped and looked at her phone on the bathroom counter. 12:24 a.m.
Pulling on her robe, she went to the door. Addie bent to look through the peephole, which was inexplicably located in the middle of the door instead of eye level. A man’s crotch in faded denim jeans was all she could see.
Her heart flip-flopped in her chest.
“Who’s there?”
“A sex fiend,” Lane said, voice considerately low.
Addie opened the door. “In that case.”
Lane held a pizza box and a pack of beer. “I hope you’re a pizza and beer kind of girl.”
Addie stepped back to let him in. “What are you doing here?”
“Making sure you eat something. All you had today was some strawberries. That’s not good.”
“So you brought me pizza and beer.” Addie didn’t know why, but tears welled up in her eyes.
Lane looked from her to the food in his hands. “I can go find some champagne if you want. It’s good pizza, I swear.”
Addie laughed. “No, this is perfect. Let me just put on some pjs.”
Addie closed the bedroom door behind her and blotted her eyes with the corner of the towel on her head. It must be exhaustion that made the simple gesture seem like the most chivalrous thing any man had ever done for her. Instead of a sexy nighty or straight lingerie, Addie pulled on a pair of satin pj pants and a matching button-up top. He’d already seen everything she had to offer, so now he could see her like this—plain Addie.
She quickly brushed and braided her hair, pulling it over her right shoulder.
When she emerged from the bedroom, Lane was seated on the floor, a series of paper towels spread out under the pizza box, his back against her chair. Addie grabbed a pillow to sit on and sank down across from him. The smell of melted cheese was making her stomach grumble.
“I am hungry,” she admitted.
Lane flipped the top of the box open. “Dig in. I didn’t know what you liked.”
Addie laughed as she looked at the pizza. Each slice had different toppings, as if it were from a completely different pie. She took the Hawaiian slice and bit in, the tang of pineapple and cream of good mozzarella exploding on her tongue. She closed her eyes in bliss.
“Oh. Oh yes.”
“I do like it when you make that noise.”
Addie opened one eye. “I can’t deal with sex innuendo right now, I’m in pizza heaven.”
Lane raised his hands. “Heard and understood.” He popped the top off a beer with the opener on his key ring and placed it near her knee before taking a piece for himself.
They chewed and sipped in companionable silence. Despite the fact that she was sitting on a pillow because he’d spanked her ass black and blue, Addie wasn’t nervous or tense around Lane. She believed, because she’d seen it for herself, that he kept that Dom part of himself separate from who he was now. She looked at her bedroom door and wondered what would happen if she took him in there.
“Do you make all your clothes?” Lane asked when she tossed the crust from her first piece back in the box. “And I can’t believe you don’t eat your crust.”
“Crust is a waste of calories. I make a lot of them. I also repair vintage clothes, old clothes. Then I design some pieces that either I can produce quickly or that can be made quickly and cheaply in town and Lulu—she owns the store I work at—sells them.”
“You sew, you fix cars, where did you learn all this?”
Addie picked up a second piece and told him about growing up in central California to a homemaking traditional Mexican-American mother and a father who thought her tomboy interest in cars was endearing. When the pizza was
gone and the final beers in the pack opened, they were on to Lane’s family, and how his social ineptitude in high school and college had led to a mini research project on men who understood and were successful with women, which eventually led him to BDSM.
They talked through the six-pack and a bottle of wine Addie had in her cupboard. They talked until the first pale streaks of dawn cut across the floor.
When Lane stood outside her door, his hair haloed with dawn light, she did the thing she’d been thinking about since he showed up—she wrapped her hands around his neck, stood on tiptoe and kissed him.
He tasted like red wine and beer, like sex and power.
Lane wrapped a hand in her hair, the other at her back, pressing their bodies even more firmly together. His lips slid against hers, his tongue touching her lips, her teeth, urging her to open up so he could deepen the kiss. Addie tightened her arms around his neck and nipped his lower lip, sucking it into her mouth. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do, maybe she should have been passive, but in that moment all she could think of was how right the kiss felt, how much she wanted him.
Rather than turn him off, her action seemed to set something off within him. Lane pulled away only to attack her from a different angle, nibbling the corner of her mouth and licking her lower lip.
He slid the hand roaming her back down, over her ass.
“Ow.” Addie broke the kiss and pressed her forehead into his shoulder, absorbing the shock of pain as he grabbed her bruised bottom.
“Fuck.” Lane cupped her head in both hands. “I’m sorry, are you okay?”
“Just surprised me.” Addie kissed the corner of his mouth. “It’s late. Early, actually. Probably better this way.”
Lane nodded but his eyes were dark. “I’ll call you later and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, why?”
“They’re not touching you without me there,” he growled.
Happiness flowered inside Addie. Hiding her smile, she cocked a hip, put a hand on it. “I said no voyeurs.”
“And I said I’ll see you tomorrow.” Lane folded his arms across his chest, a hint of Dom showing.
Addie stepped back and closed her apartment door. She looked through the peephole in time to see him adjusting his dick in his pants before walking down the hall.
Leaning back against the door, Addie laughed. He did like her. He’d brought her pizza and beer.
Chapter Five
“Remove your clothing.”
Addie fell back at Emory’s sudden order. She’d barely stepped onto his section of the sound stage. The three-sided room was bare except for some black drop-cloth-covered lumps of furniture against the walls. The floor under her feet was wood laminate and there were several large oval mirrors on the walls, hanging between black curtains. Overall the space had the feel of a vampire’s unused ballroom or formal parlor.
“Just like that?” she asked. “No preliminaries.”
“You understand this is a job, correct, and that the job you’ve been hired to do involves your naked body?” Emory placed his hands on his hips and looked at her. There was no exasperation or accusation in his voice.
“Oh, yes. I mean, I know that.” Thrown by his comment, Addie began untying her outfit. Today she was in a simple wrap dress in a bold red fabric. When something moved in the corner of the room she jumped, holding the edges of her dress closed. SJ appeared, nearly invisible in her black clothing in the mostly black room. The photographer was toying with her camera, detaching the lens and slipping it into a pouch at her belt.
If she wasn’t bothering to photograph this it could only mean that Addie’s undressing wasn’t even a part of whatever Emory had planned.
Calm down, Addie. This is a job, just a modeling job.
She had to stop thinking Emory was Lane. He wasn’t, he was into different things, going to do different things to her. That was the whole point of having three different men touch her.
Speaking of Lane, where was he? He said he’d be here, but wasn’t. She’d even loitered in the parking lot waiting for him, but hadn’t seen his Mercedes. She didn’t have time to figure it out now, or to have a breakdown about him lying to her. Right now the only thing she should be thinking about was the man standing in front of her.
Emory was five foot ten, with black curly hair, a creamy brown completion and exotic features that spoke of a mixed-race background. He wore a soft gray three-piece suit with a white shirt and dark gray tie. He looked like a classy banker or high-end lawyer. The impression was supported by his formal speaking patterns and calm demeanor.
Addie peeled off her dress. She was about to drop it to the floor, but something about Emory told her that he was not the type of man who appreciated a mess. Instead she carefully folded it over her arm. Yesterday, after waking up at two in the afternoon, she’d gone out and bought some cheap black lace lingerie. They were paying her five figures for this project, but that didn’t mean she wanted to spend it on expensive, vintage-inspired pieces for the Doms to destroy.
“Turn.”
Addie turned her back, letting him look her over.
“You were spanked?”
“Yes.”
“Does it still hurt?”
“A little.”
“Very well, we’ll work around that. Come here.”
Addie approached Emory, trepidation fluttering to life in her belly. He lifted the dress off her arm. Pulling one of the black curtains away from the equally black wall, he hung it on a hook. When the curtain fell back into place, her red dress, the only spot of color, disappeared.
Emory reached out, selecting a lock of her hair. “Do you remember what my specialty is?”
“Well-planned scenes,” Addie said from memory.
Emory smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a very attractive way. “Exactly. The first thing I want to do is establish which scenes you have the most affinity for.”
“I’ve never done scenes before.”
Emory walked to the closest corner, threw back the drop cloth, and drew out a sparkling white straight-backed chair. He brought it to the center of the room, placing it precisely. “Please, take a seat. Your lack of familiarity with scenes is one of the reasons you’re here, but you may have done some role play—that’s another term for what I do, though it’s been corrupted by the comic book crowd—with past lovers?”
“Role play? Oh no, none of that.” She sat, the chair cold against her ass and back.
“You sound disgusted.”
“No,” Addie said, mentally wincing. She really didn’t want to piss this man off. “It’s just not something I’ve ever thought about.”
“Isn’t the life you lead a type of role play, with your affected dress and personal style?” Emory walked away, back toward the corner.
Addie straightened in the chair. “No, it’s my life. It’s who I am.” She bit off each word. Now this guy was pissing her off. She caught another movement out of the corner of her eye, near the edge of the set where the walls met air.
She glanced over to see Lane standing there. He wore dark jeans and a black leather jacket. Happy butterflies fluttered to life in her belly. She started to smile but he shook his head and pressed a finger to his lips. Addie took that to mean that Emory couldn’t know he was there.
Looking over at the other Dom, she saw he was pulling a trunk out from under the cloth. He flipped it open, hiked up the legs of his pants just above the knee, and crouched to look inside.
“Everyone has at least one scene they’re drawn to, whether it’s because it’s one of their darkest fantasies or because it’s an element from the genre of movie they prefer.” He stood and returned to Addie, hands cupped in front of him. “It’s my job to discover what scene will speak to you.”
“Why don’t you just ask me?”
“Because you’d lie, either to me or to yourself. Or you’d try to second-guess the scene, selecting one based on what would be the most pleasurable.”
Fuck.
That was exactly what she’d planned to do.
“Please spread your legs. Submissives, when in the presence of a Dom, keep their legs spread and breasts accessible.” Emory frowned. “I thought Lane would have taught you some of this.”
Addie couldn’t stop herself from glancing at Lane, who’d moved deeper into the shadows. He was glaring at her. Did that mean he actually wanted her showing off her pussy to other men? Or was this because her failure to behave made him look bad, as if she were a poorly trained dog?
“Fuck that,” she said aloud, glaring back at Lane.
“Excuse me?” Emory’s words were as cold as ice. He wrapped his fingers around each knee and slowly spread her legs.
“No, I wasn’t—” talking to you. But she couldn’t say that. Addie looked into Emory’s icy brown gaze and a little shiver raced down her spine. “I was just…frustrated. Lane did teach me some rules, but I wasn’t sure if they were his rules or universal rules.”
Emory ran his hands up her thighs, his thumbs skirting the insides. He stopped just short of her pussy. “Understandable, which is why you won’t be held accountable to the standards of a sub, and punished accordingly. That being said, you will show myself and this culture the respect they deserve. For the rest of the session you will not speak unless spoken to. You will answer every question with ‘yes Sir’ or ‘no Sir’. Do you understand?”
“Yes Sir.”
When Emory walked away, Addie followed him with her gaze, more than a little worried about the rest of the day, and also more than a little turned-on.
Emory took one last thing from the box. This time Addie could clearly see what it was when he brought it back. The silver dildo was short and thick, with a single long white ostrich feather coming out of the end.
Addie opened her mouth to ask what that was for and where he was going to put it, but snapped her mouth closed, remembering he’d ordered her not to speak.
“Well done. I know the inability to ask questions can be frustrating. I will tell you what I feel it’s relevant for you to know. This,” he held the dildo out for her to inspect, “is a tool used to gauge a submissive’s response to verbal stimuli. I’ll insert it into your sex. I then list the possible scenes. Your body will react to the ones you find most sexually appealing by contracting your pussy muscles. That will cause the feather to jump, telling me that you’re interested.”