“Tell, tell.” Kiki’s all cozy with us like we’re BFFs.
“Well,” Violet hesitates. “There’s this artist in New York. She does street art, but it’s not like regular graffiti. I’m building a photo feature to sell to a magazine.”
“Street art?” Abraham’s interest is piqued. “That shit is hot right now. They sold a piece at Christie’s for, like, three mil. Guy who painted it doesn’t even get a cut, but the owner of the building where they cut it out made out well.”
“They cut it out?” Violet’s tone sharpens. “They sold it?”
“Well, yeah. Whatcha gonna do? Some guy paints it on your building without asking, then that brings out a bunch of looky-loos and some guys who just want to mess it up. Pain in the ass. Best thing is to get rid of it. Sell it.” Abraham shrugs as if it’s that simple, but Violet’s unconvinced.
I change the subject to Kiki’s latest movie and we listen to her gush a bit. Violet cuts in and excuses herself to the restroom. Before she gets away, I grab her wrist.
“You sure about what you want? About giving me control?” I whisper in her ear.
She nods once, the black wig feathering across her cheeks.
“Then prove it. Bring me your panties.”
“My—?”
“You heard me. They’d better be in my pocket ten seconds after you get back from the bathroom.”
Violet’s green eyes darken and she licks her lips. “Yes, sir.”
I release her and turn back to Abraham and Kiki, scolding my dick to behave. I doubt Violet’s ever done anything this risqué in her life.
CHAPTER 36: VIOLET
I sit on the toilet, eyeing the tiny scrap of pewter lace currently strung between my knees. Jayce wants it in his pocket, but I’d rather sing the national anthem right in the middle of this party than go without undies in this ridiculously short dress.
Except that this is a test.
He knows it. I know it. Jayce is testing whether I trust him, how far he can push me, and how much control I’m willing to give him.
Give. That’s the operative word. The fear that ruled me and made me fight him even while he tried to help me is evaporating, replaced by the knowledge that he can only have as much control as I’m willing to give.
Or none at all.
I stand up and pull my panties back in place, sliding my dress down over my thighs and the stocking-and-garter-belt contraption that Stella thought should go with my new retro bombshell look.
“Jayce will love it,” she said, and I confess I hoped she’d be right.
I step out of the stall and wash my hands, feeling guilty I can’t fulfill Jayce’s request. I was raised in a conservative family. I’ve never worn any dress as remotely revealing as the one I’m wearing now. And I’m already feeling more than a little exposed by tempting fate and coming to this party in the first place. I let jealousy take over for good sense when I decided to come, just so he wouldn’t spend the night with some groupie.
A couple of girls push into the bathroom as I reapply deep red lipstick.
“You’re with Jayce McKittrick!” the blonde girls squeaks.
“Um, yeah.” I try to look busy stuffing my compact back in my clutch.
“Girlfriend, groupie or escort?” the other, raven-haired one asks.
My mouth drops open.
“Shut up, Kylee,” the blonde girl says. “Sorry. It’s just a game we play. You know, like you pick a star and say whether you’d ‘screw, marry or kill’ him? At parties, we play the guessing game—is he with a girlfriend, a groupie or an escort?”
“I guess groupie,” Kylee says, sizing me up. “But that’s one fucking fantastic dress.”
“It’s a Just, ah, a Justina-something.” I hopelessly mangle Giustiniano, may the fashion gods forgive me. “But you’re wrong. I’m not a groupie.”
“Oh! Girlfriend?” The blonde’s face lights up. “He’s, like, so famous for being a player. Girlfriend is serious!”
I shake my head again, and both girls’ eyes bug out. Then I realize what the final choice is: escort.
I hold up my hands. “Oh, no, it’s not like that. He’s not paying me to be here. We’re just friends.”
“Says the girl who was sucking on his tongue an hour ago,” Kylee says.
“You saw that?”
“Me and a hundred other people. Not subtle, girl. If you were a tree, he’d be the dog who pissed a mile-wide mark on his territory.”
I giggle at the visual. His territory. Jayce is controlling and pushy, but he’s also fiercely protective. And we’re definitely not just friends—the way my skin heats with Kylee’s description of our not-so-private make-out session is proof of that.
I excuse myself and go back inside a stall, reaching under my dress before I can overthink it. I slide the stretchy lace over my hips and down my legs. I curl the panties into a ball in my fist, then fly out of the stall before anyone can give me the stink-eye for not washing my hands again. Kind of hard to do that while clutching a wad of lace.
Jayce is still chatting with Kiki and Abraham when I return, and I creep up next to him to try to unobtrusively stuff the garment in the pocket of his slacks.
“I got you more Champagne,” Jayce grins, a naughty twinkle in his eye, and extends it to my fisted hand. I force a smile and a word of thanks and reach for the flute with my other hand.
He leans to my ear for a quick whisper: “Ten, nine, eight …”
I try to play the part of a tipsy girlfriend, snuggling up to Jayce to find his pocket, but he steps slightly to the side.
He flashes me a grin and mouths the words, “Seven, six, five …”
“Jayce, would you mind helping me find Stella?”
“Sure, Vi—uh, Alyssa. In just a minute.” His wicked grin tells me he’s not going to make it easy, and the seconds are evaporating.
Flustered, I glance around desperately and see a black circle protruding from a tall, shiny hedge that flanks all sides of Abraham’s property. It takes less than a second to register. “I think I just saw a camera through there!”
All three heads turn in the direction I’m pointing and my hand darts into Jayce’s pocket to deposit the panties. He squeezes my hand, a sly smile playing on his lips.
“You made that hard,” I whisper furiously.
“No, you made it hard,” Jayce says, his voice husky with intent. “Now just imagine what I can do to you—”
“Where’d you say you saw the pap?” Abraham breaks in, his phone pressed to his ear as he directs his security team. He says pap like pop, short for paparazzi. I point again and he barks something about the southwest corner, lower terrace.
“Paparazzi are so lame,” Kiki whines. “I used to go swimming naked because we’ve got all these fences and hedges and stuff, but they got through that. The pictures came out a few months ago.”
“How did you cope with that?” I worry that my voice is a little too keen to know the answer.
Kiki shrugs. “What could I do? I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I was on private property. Of course we sued them, but it’s hard to make it stick, especially since they paid off a neighbor to get access.”
I feel Jayce’s hand on my hip, pulling me closer to him. Maybe for comfort. Maybe he’s listening as closely as I am.
“Weren’t you embarrassed?” I ask.
Kiki grimaces like I’ve asked if she sleeps on nails. “Of course not! I kill myself in the gym practically every day for this body. If you’ve got it, flaunt it, you know? It’s not the naked part, it’s the fact that I had no control over who was taking the pictures and what they’d do with them.”
I can’t help it. My eyes rocket to Jayce and he locks on them, hearing the same meaning I do. It’s not the naked taboo, or even the bondage, that’s so wrong with my pictures online. It’s the fact that I’ve lost control.
And as the images make their way to every sleazy corner of the Internet, that control slips further from my grasp.
***
Jayce’s hands rest on the dimples of my lower back, just above my butt, as a ballad has me swaying in his arms.
Under cover of darkness on this terrace, with my wig and the so-not-me dress, I can almost forget the stalker nightmare and the fact that I’m playing with fire by even being here.
The DJ fires up a fast-paced song and Jayce dips his head for a slow, soft kiss before he lets me go, shoving his hand in the pocket where I know my panties are. “It’s time, Violet. Let’s go.”
We wave to a few people and slip into a limousine out front. I haven’t seen the rest of the band or their girlfriends in a while, but I was wrapped up in my own little world dancing with Jayce.
In the limo, Jayce raises a privacy barrier and then his hand goes to my knees. Gently, he pries them apart, his eyes on mine. He drops his chin and blows, a warm air current that drifts between my thighs and electrifies my skin.
“It was torture knowing what wasn’t under this dress,” Jayce says, and pushes the hem of my dress up my legs just enough to see the tops of my stockings and their garter attachments. “And now that I see what is underneath, it’s even better.”
Jayce licks his lips and I shudder.
His fingers trail up my arm. “Are you sure, Violet?”
I nod, but my insides quake. The last time someone had power over me, he abused it, and the threat that Brady could do worse still hangs over my head.
Jayce seems to sense my hesitancy.
“Think of this like a game. Like cards, like we’re playing Go Fish.” His fingers reach the top of my shoulder and then they descend, following the neckline of my dress. “You ask for a card and I give it to you. I ask for a card and you give it to me.”
“And if I can’t?” I’m not thinking cards, I’m thinking panic. What if he does the things Brady did? What if they make me feel filthy instead of free?
“Go fish.” Jayce smiles, a tiny shrug in his shoulders. “I’m new at this, too, Violet. But I know I want it.”
CHAPTER 37: JAYCE
I breathe on the back of her neck, watching fine hairs stand up. We’ve got about ten seconds before the elevator door opens on our floor, so I trail my hand up the back of her thigh and around the curve of her ass, just close enough to her center that she’s reminded again that her panties are a wad in my pocket.
The elevator dings open and I take her hand to walk her to the door of our suite. She won’t meet my eyes and I’m afraid she’s having second thoughts.
Me? I’m horny as hell, but I try to contain it, worried that I’ll scare her off.
I’ve seen some groupies do weird shit, and some even throw their panties at us—well, mostly at Gavin—while we’re on stage. But I’ve never had a girl do this, simply because I asked her to.
It’s a small thing, and the biggest turn-on wasn’t the fact that I had to think about her bare pussy beneath her dress all night. The biggest turn-on was that she gave me that power.
I asked and she gave it. Control.
With groupies, there’s no such thing as control. Even though you’re the star, you don’t control them. That’s because they’re focused on what they can get from you, whether it’s a great lay or a story to tell their friends or a shopping spree on your platinum card.
I don’t remember Violet asking for anything from me, ever. When she was scared, I protected her. When she was hungry, I fed her. And now, when I see the need in her eyes, I want to give her release, too.
Hell, I want to do more than that. I want to give her a toe-curling, earth-shattering orgasm.
But we’ll get to that. First things first is talking her down off that ledge she’s on. Because she might say that she’s into this power exchange and that she’s willing to give me control, but I can see that she’s not all in, not yet.
She’s scared out of her mind, but it’s clouded by lust, too.
“Stand here.” I point Violet to a space in front of a small desk that faces the floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking LA. “Take off the wig.”
Her fingers shake a little as she reaches into the wig and pulls a dozen hairpins out. Then she slides it off, revealing a flat bun where her real hair’s been hiding. I unravel the bun so her hair falls softly over white shoulders. It looks even more fiery in contrast with the cool green dress.
I tell her to place her palms flat against the desktop. She hesitates but then follows my directions. It has the delicious effect of making her bend slightly so her ass sticks out toward me.
My semi springs to full attention as I walk in a little half-circle around Violet, adjusting the lights, turning on music. She’s watching me.
God, what I wouldn’t give to get inside her head and put her fears to rest. But if I force things, if I move too fast, I’m going to be just like him, that guy who took pictures of her. And I know she’ll run.
“Close your eyes.” When she does so, I wait a beat, then close the distance between us and trail a feather-light touch across her cheek. She leans into my hand. “I want you to anticipate my touch. But I also want to keep you guessing. Wondering.”
I bend down and one at a time pull her feet from her shoes, hearing her sigh as she loses a few inches in height.
Unfortunately, now her ass isn’t displayed as prettily, so I take the hem of her dress and peel it up her thighs, until her ass is bare, just the silky ribbons of the garter belt running down the sides of each ass cheek.
I brush my thumb over a cheek, seeing her skin flush even here at my touch.
“Violet, are you OK?”
Her eyes still closed, she nods.
“Do you want more?”
Another nod, this one firmer.
My hand slides down the back of her leg and up to her center. She’s wet. Very.
“Your body says you’re ready for me, Violet. But I intend to take my time making absolutely sure that you get everything you need tonight.”
Her dress is bunched around her waist and I find a hidden zipper under her arm, tug it down and dispense with the dress.
No bra, either. God, this woman is going to kill me.
My sorceress, my fairy princess, is equal parts Rapunzel and the witch. She remains absolutely still where I’ve commanded her, on display for me—nothing but a garter belt and stockings, her breasts taut and nipples in tight round buds.
I breathe on her shoulder and brush my fingers through a strand of hair. Her face is a mask of concentration, but I don’t know if she’s focused on me or the fear that I’ll use her the way someone else did.
I let my fingers explore her soft skin, trailing my hands over her back, shoulders, breasts, thighs. I drag my fingernail up the back of her calf and she lets out a squeak of surprise. When I bend and flick her nipple with my tongue, she moans.
But through it all, she remains precisely where I positioned her: bent at the waist, hands on the desk, legs spread just enough.
“You’re doing very well following my directions. Shall we try something more?”
Violet nods her head vigorously, her eyes still closed. I move my hand between her legs deliberately, but just before I reach the apex of her thighs, I touch the top of her stocking where the garter attaches.
Violet whimpers in frustration.
“I’ll warn you, Violet, I’m very, very thorough.” I kneel on the carpet behind her, her perfect ass inches from my face, and I unfasten the back garter straps. Then I move to the small space in front of her, between her legs and the desk, and I unfasten those garter straps as well.
Violet’s legs tremble and I breathe across her pussy, stroking one finger down the delicate red-blonde hair. I grasp her hips and touch her with my tongue, slow strokes that flood my mouth with her taste.
Milk and honey.
Violet’s quaking more violently now, as if it’s taking all of her concentration just to remain upright. I wriggle out from under her and stand again, still dressed for the party.
I step a few feet away from her and remove my shirt, wat
ching her breathing hard as she grips the desk. I drop my trousers and shove my boxers down over an epic hard-on that’s begging me to quit torturing this girl and do it.
It’s this very thing—not torture, but control—that has me about ready to explode even though she hasn’t laid a hand on me. And what I really want to do to her is not something I’ve ever asked a groupie. I’d get slammed in the press for being kinky faster than I could pull my pants up.
I slide a finger between Violet’s thigh and stocking, slipping the silk down her leg and off her foot. I repeat this with her other leg, then dispense with the garter belt altogether. Now I have what I need.
And I hope I can give her what she needs.
I get a couple of pillows from the bedroom and return to the living room. Violet still hasn’t moved. It’s surreal—Los Angeles lit up and sparkling forty floors below us, and Violet’s naked form braced on the desk for whatever I ask from her next.
I pick up her hands, brushing her knuckles to my lips. “This is where it gets real,” I whisper. “You can go with me as far as you want to. And you can open your eyes.”
Her emerald eyes knock me back a step when they open, smoldering in intensity. I see surprise register in her face that I’m naked too.
I pull the desk a couple of feet from the window, thankful that we’re not close enough to another building where people could see what we’re about to do. The pillows go on top of the desk, then I direct Violet to resume where she’d stood, only this time, her palms don’t go on the desktop.
I bend her over the desk on the pillows, her ass in the air, her arms dangling down over the other side. I take one of her stockings and tie her wrists together, then anchor them to a crossbar between the legs of the desk.
She whimpers, but doesn’t protest.
I walk around the desk, brushing her ass with the back of my hand. I use the other stocking to anchor her ankle to one of the desk legs, and I grab my belt from my slacks to finish off the other leg.
Bound. Exactly where I want and need her to be.
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