by HELEN HARDT
“I’ve never bound your wrists before,” he says.
I shake my head.
“Are you ready?”
Am I? I have no idea, which doesn’t explain why I nod.
I want whatever he wants, which is unbelievable but no less true.
“Take off your clothes, Skye,” he says again.
I tremble as I obey and then stand naked, in full view of anyone who might be scaling the building. What if the window washers are working today?
“Now hold your wrists out. Together.”
I do, and he wraps his tie tightly around them and secures it with a knot I don’t recognize. Not that I’d recognize any kind of knot.
I gape at him. His shoulders are tan and magnificent, all his corded muscles visible beneath the tank. I long to reach forward and touch him, skim my fingertips along his warm flesh, but I don’t dare move.
My wrists are bound. I can still walk, I can still touch, but something in me makes me remain still until Braden tells me where to go next.
“You look beautiful, Skye.”
I smile nervously.
“Bound for my pleasure,” he says.
My flesh tingles as he regards me, as if his eyes are lasers that tantalize me. I don’t know what he’s going to do, and that both frightens and excites me.
And that unlocked door…
“Walk to the window, Skye, and face it. Hands above your head.”
I’m so naked. So exposed. But I obey, pressing my bare breasts against the glass, my bound wrists resting on the pane above me.
Braden’s belt clinks. Then his zipper.
He’s behind me, pushing into me. He grasps my bound wrists and holds them clamped against the window. “Don’t move,” he whispers against my ear.
Then, in one quick thrust, he’s inside me.
I can’t help it. I cry out.
“That’s it, baby,” he says. “Take it. Take all of me.”
He pulls out and pushes back in.
My cheek and breasts are crushed against the glass. Braden’s hand stays clamped onto my bound wrists, rendering me immobile.
With his other hand, he grips my hip as he fucks me. “Good girl. Don’t move. Let me take what’s mine.”
I melt into the glass, closing my eyes against whatever is on the other side. Can someone see me? I don’t care. I care only about Braden inside me, taking me, filling the empty ache I never knew I had until I met him.
It’s a hard and primal fuck. No kisses to my neck, no nibbles on my ear. Just a raw taking, and I’m so willing to be taken.
“That’s it.” He pumps faster. “Yeah, baby, just like that.”
He glides his hand from my hip around and touches my clit gently. I gasp. Then not so gently.
I explode.
Quick as lightning, he withdraws and spins me to face him. My body still throbs from the orgasm as he lifts me, my ass pressing against the glass window.
“Put your arms around my neck,” he commands.
I look down at the binding. How—
“Do it!” he grits out.
Still reeling from the climax, I lift both my arms and ring them around his neck. I’m suspended now, flat against the window, and my arms bound and around him. He spreads my legs as wide as they’ll go, his arms under my thighs like a makeshift swing. He’s holding all my weight, pushing me up and against the glass. Anyone looking up can see my naked ass. Anyone…
But the thought flees my mind as he plunges into me.
Though he was just inside me, I’m tight from the climax, and this new position feels amazingly different. He burns into me, charges into me, thrusting and thrusting.
“Fuck,” he groans. “Feels so good.”
“God, yes,” I say. “Please.”
I want him to touch me. Touch my clit. Give me another orgasm.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he leans into me, our chests touching, and rocks his cock gently back and forth into me.
It’s deliciously erotic, a new sensation, and—
“Braden! I’m coming!”
“That’s it, baby.” He pulls back slightly and plunges deep.
He withdraws and then thrusts.
A fuck. A good, hard fuck.
The orgasm rolls through me, and as my body releases, I shout. I scream. And I don’t give a damn who can hear me.
Braden shoves his cock into me one last time, pulling another climax from me as he gives in to his own.
Together we soar through the window and over the skyscrapers of Boston.
I open my eyes, and the colors are so much more vivid. Downtown isn’t gray and brown. It’s silver and gold and bronze, the sun casting luminous rays over the buildings and down onto the cars and passersby below.
I close my eyes once more and surrender to the feelings bubbling through me even as I remain immobile.
Inside I’m flying, waving my arms, and laughing. Feeling vibrant and free.
So vibrant and free.
When I finally open my eyes again, Braden withdraws, panting.
I want to turn, to see him—his face glistening, his hair in disarray, his muscles taut and tight.
But I don’t move.
He told me not to move.
Finally, he touches my wrists and brings my hands down, turning me to face him. Without saying a word, he loosens the knot and removes his tie from my wrists. He rubs them. “Okay?”
I nod.
“Tell me.”
“Yes. I’m okay.”
“Good.”
Did he fuck Aretha Doyle against the window in his office? Anyone else? I want to ask, but I don’t. I won’t do anything to spoil this moment.
“Braden?”
“Hmm?”
“That was…amazing.”
He nods. “It was.”
Now what?
“I mean, really amazing. Anyone could have seen us.”
His lips curve slightly upward, as if he wants to smile but is holding back.
“What?” I ask.
“The windows are tinted on the outside, just like my apartment. We can see out, but no one can see in.”
“Oh.” Oddly, I’m a little disappointed. I almost wish he hadn’t told me.
“Did you like being bound?” he asks.
“I’m…not sure.”
“You’re not sure? You said yourself it was amazing.”
“I meant the sex.”
“Your wrists being bound was part of the sex.”
“It was everything, though. Being in your office. The unlocked door. The window.”
His blue gaze penetrates mine. “You like to be watched.”
Do I? “No, not really. It was more—”
“You just admitted it. You never cease to amaze me, Skye.”
“I guess I never thought about it. It was knowing anyone could walk in. The suspense. It was…”
“Erotic,” he says. “Erotic and a little frightening because you were taking a risk. Did you like being tied up?”
My cheeks warm. “Yes. And being tied up with your tie,” I say without thinking.
Why does stuff always sound funnier in my head?
“Would it surprise you to know I’d like to bind all four of your limbs, have you splayed out, naked, for me to do whatever I want?”
My body quivers as heat sparks from my core outward. Tied up? Really tied up?
My mind goes again to the strange contraption hanging from the ceiling above Braden’s bed. Is now the time to ask about that?
Maybe, except that I’m unable to form the words.
“Skye?”
“No,” I say, trembling.
“Good,” he says, “because I want to do all that to you and more. Have you ever been fucked anall
y, Skye?”
I gulp. I shouldn’t be surprised at his question. He’s made it clear he likes to play with my ass. “No.”
“Do you remember the instrument I stroked you with while you were blindfolded?”
“Yeah. It felt cool against me.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what it was?”
“How could I? I was blindfolded.”
His lips twitch. Again, I feel like he wants to smile but he’s holding back.
“It was an anal plug.”
“What’s that?”
“A tool. To prepare you for anal sex.”
“Braden, I—”
“Don’t worry. We won’t go there yet. Not until you’re ready.”
I may never be ready for that, but I don’t say so. I don’t want to say or do anything that might deter Braden’s interest in me.
“Go ahead and get dressed,” he says, “and we’ll go over your contract.”
As I dress, Braden picks up his shirt and opens a door on the opposite side of the room. At least a dozen crisp white shirts hang inside. He takes one, puts it on, and then stuffs his original shirt in what looks like a laundry bag.
Why does he have so many clean shirts in his office?
Does he fuck a lot of women in here?
I tell myself it doesn’t matter. That he’s promised to sleep only with me as long as we’re together.
But it does matter.
Jealousy slides through me, not in a raging way but subtler, like a tiny bug inside me that I can’t swat away.
Since Braden won’t talk to me about his past relationships with Addie and others, I fear the bug will never leave me in peace.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Back at the office, I electronically sign the contract that Braden approved and email it to Eugenie. I check email. Better check yesterday’s post again. I log in—
The password doesn’t work. I must have mistyped. Before I type it again, the phone rings.
“Addison Ames’s office.”
“Skye?”
“Yes?”
“It’s Eugenie. I just received the signed contract, and we’re thrilled to have you on board.”
“Great! I’m looking forward to it.”
“We’d like you to do the first post as soon as possible. Today if you can.”
“All right. Do you have any—”
The door to the office opens and then slams. In walks Addie, the Babbler in her clenched fist. “What the hell is this?”
“Skye?” Eugenie asks.
“I’m sorry. Could I call you back? I have a…situation here.”
“Hang up the damned phone!” Addie slams the tabloid down on the desk.
“Sure,” Eugenie says. “But get back to me within the hour, please.”
“I will.” I end the call.
“Poised to become the next sweetheart of Instagram?” Addison glares at me.
“I already know about the article. I never said any of those things, and I have no idea who their alleged source is.”
“Your BFF, no doubt?”
“Tessa? Of course not. Tessa wouldn’t lie about me.”
“Even if they offered her some money?”
“They pay their sources?” I shake my head.
“I don’t know,” she says, “but I wouldn’t put it past them. Just how many calls have you gotten from my clients, Skye?”
“One. Just the one from Eugenie.”
“That’s not what this says.” She points to the rag.
“You can believe me, or you can believe some source,” I say. “Your choice.”
“It doesn’t matter who I believe. You’re the competition now, which means you have a conflict of interest. You’re fired, Skye.”
I widen my eyes. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I’m a professional, so you’ll get two weeks’ severance pay, but you’re done here. I already locked you out of my account.”
That explains why the password doesn’t work. “What about tomorrow’s shoot?”
“I’ll handle it myself. Or I’ll hire a new assistant. You’re not indispensable, no matter how much you think you are.”
“All right,” I say.
“You’ll lose in the long run.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Braden. He’ll destroy you. He may make you into a huge influencer, but one day you’ll be wishing you took my advice and stayed away from him.”
“How can I take your advice when you won’t give me any details?”
“Figure it out for yourself. I’m done.” She stomps into her private office but looks over her shoulder. “Pack up your shit and get out of here.” She slams the door.
My flesh goes numb. It’s over? Like this? This was never my dream job, but I did good work for Addie. Not just good work. My best work. It sucks not to be appreciated.
I don’t have a lot of personal things at the office. Everything fits easily in a reusable grocery bag. Before I go, however, I print out Addie’s email contact list before she locks me out of that as well. I won’t go after her clients, but a lot of those contacts are also my contacts, and I’m not about to lose them.
I return Eugenie’s call as soon as I reach my apartment.
“I’m so sorry for the interruption,” I tell her. “Trust me that it will never happen again.”
“Not a problem. Will you be able to do the first post today?”
“Absolutely. Do you have anything you specifically want me to include?”
“No. This is all you, Skye. Just wear the Cherry Russet and mention it. Otherwise, be creative. I’ve already contacted payroll. Since you chose automatic deposit, your first half should hit your account by the end of business tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
“As per the contract, the second half will clear after all three posts are published.”
“I understand. Thank you again. I truly appreciate the opportunity.”
“You can be huge, Skye. We know you’re the brains behind Addie’s posts. Be yourself and use your talent. You’ll outshine her in no time.”
I’m not in this to outshine anyone. But I don’t say the words.
“I’ll get the post up before seven p.m.,” I promise. “Oh, and from now on, please contact me on my cell.” I recite the number.
“Awesome. Talk soon.”
Eugenie has my number. Excellent. Only problem? All my other contacts will attempt to call me at Addison’s office. That’s a problem. If she’s answering the phone, she’ll no doubt try to blackball me.
You’ll outshine her in no time. Why would Eugenie say that? Is she Kay Brown’s source?
I laugh out loud. The social media director for a major cosmetics company certainly has better things to do than give out false information to a gossip rag.
You can be huge, Skye.
Eugenie talked about me being the brains behind Addison, about using my talent and being myself.
But the truth is, Braden is the only reason anyone cares what kind of lipstick I use.
Braden.
Once he’s out of the picture, no one will care what I think anymore.
I sigh. That’s a fact. But I have another fact to consider.
I’m now unemployed. I need a steady stream of income, and if this will give me income, I have to do it.
I’m a photographer. An artist. I’m going to get creative and give Susanne Cosmetics a post that’s not only catchy and informative but also a work of art. I’ll use this to my advantage, as Braden suggested. It’s a chance for me to put my talent as a photographer out in the world.
If only I had a photography studio where I could manipulate the lighting.
Of c
ourse, studio shots can sometimes look sterile.
A photo in my apartment would be more personal, but again, I have a lighting issue.
This requires some thought.
I go to my bathroom and touch up my hair and makeup until I’m satisfied. Not bad. Not bad at all.
My contract is for three posts featuring the Cherry Russet lip stain. What do I love most about it? It’s dark enough for a dramatic effect at night but neutral enough for everyday wear.
Casual, formal, and dramatic—perfect.
I’ll begin with casual. I look good, so I leave the apartment and walk outside. It’s not the greatest day for an outside shoot, so I walk a couple of blocks to Bean There Done That. I peruse the setting. Lighting is good, especially if I can get a table where the sunlight shines in opposite. I quickly order a cinnamon mocha latte and find a table that works.
I don’t have an assistant to hold the phone for my “selfie.” This is all on me. Good thing I have a lot of experience taking influencer photos.
I take about ten selfies—smiling, serious, even feigning laughter in one.
And that’s the one I choose.
It’s spontaneous and lively. Perfect for my casual theme. I do a few quick edits until I look as good as I’m going to.
Now for the copy. I almost always wrote Addie’s copy unless the client writes it. I understand Addie’s voice.
I’m not Addie, and I don’t want to be.
I must find my own voice, and my own voice will be authentic, not fake.
What to say?
How do I feel about the lip stain?
I love it. It’s my go-to. And that’s all I need.
Love my Susanne Cherry Russet lip stain. It’s my go-to for every occasion. Perfect for a casual afternoon! @susannecosmetics #sponsored #lips #lipgloss #kissproof #kissablelips #youknowyouwantsome
Hmm. Five hashtags is a little much. I delete #kissablelips. I add Bean There Done That for my location. Perhaps they’ll see the post and want me to do one for them. I actually like coffee.
My heart races as my finger hovers above the Share button.
I analyze the post once more. Perfect photo? Check. Decent copy? Check. A nice mixture of marketing and fun hashtags? Check.
I swallow, gathering my courage.
And I hit Share.
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