by Stella Rhys
I didn’t even realize I’d looked away till I found myself turning back to Iain, briefly surprised by the look of unmasked intrigue on his face as he studied me. I’d never seen it before and admittedly, I liked it. Probably because I knew the reason behind it.
You didn’t think I had it in me.
You thought I was just Mommy’s perfect angel the whole time, with no brain of her own.
Surprise, I wasn’t.
“How did you manage to save up enough to move without her knowing?” he asked.
Just the question made me suck in a deep breath.
“I… busted my ass, for sure,” I said, breaking into a true smile as I thought about the four-year marathon that was The Great Escape. “The first year of college, I scheduled all my classes in the morning so I could work a mid-shift as a waitress somewhere before going home. But then my mom demanded a copy of my schedule and interrogated me about that big chunk of free time, so that plan fell through,” I said, wincing as I remembered Mom’s catastrophic meltdown that day. “So instead, I did multiple odd jobs between classes and started my online store.”
“Your online store?”
“Etsy,” I said. “It’s just this thing where—”
“I know what Etsy is, Holland,” Iain said with a laugh that cut through the tension and made me smirk. “I’m just wondering what you sold.”
“Well, I was getting there,” I said, holding my playful gaze on him as I said thank you to Brooke.
She’d just set my Prosecco down, and judging from her turn to Iain, she was about to start chatting again. But his eyes remained on me, and it was clear they were going nowhere so to my slight satisfaction, she did an awkward little two-step before leaving us alone.
At which point I started my story about the start of my store—which, of course, began with a friend at Parsons who had a connection to buy Levi’s wholesale for cheap. I’d saved up for the first shipment so I could cut them into shorts that I distressed myself. It was for a handful of classmates that had asked about the distressed shorts I’d worn to school.
“I randomly made them this one night when my mom went nuts on me for coming home late, because I’d missed the bus. I really just missed it for normal reasons, not drug or alcohol reasons like she assumed, but after she laid into me, I went into my room and took out my anger on an old pair of jeans,” I said, laughing at the memory from what felt like ages ago. “Actually, that first pair came out horrible. But then I did some research, made another one, and it was good enough that I wound up bringing it in my backpack and changing into it before a class.”
A small smile tugged on Iain’s lips now as he was listening, and I wasn’t sure if it was that or the Prosecco that had me feeling suddenly giddy as I recounted the story.
“So, after my friends bought the first few pairs, the weather was getting hot, and they told me that their friends were starting to ask where they could get those shorts. So I decided to set up a shop online,” I said, unable to help myself from beaming as I relived the little thrill. “It was just Parsons students at first, but then they’d review, and the reviews got orders from all over to start trickling in. I customized to their measurements and charged between sixty to eighty dollars a pair, but if they wanted customizations like studs or other embellishments, it could get to a hundred dollars or more.”
The last detail on the story lifted Iain’s eyebrows—probably because he had no clue the market for perfectly distressed denim was so rabid. At one point, neither had I.
“So you were doing all this at home?” he asked.
“Yep. At home. Between classes. Wherever I could.” I took a sip of my Prosecco. “By the second summer, I was slammed. There was a week where I had a friend help, and we finished and shipped twenty-four pairs. When my mom saw me working on them at home, I just said they were an extra credit assignment. I even showed her an email as proof,” I giggled, and when Iain tilted his head inquisitively, I explained. “I’d just had one of my favorite teachers write the email for me, saying it was for the coming semester. In case I ever needed it. Which, of course, I did.”
Iain laughed. “I’m impressed,” he said genuinely, making me grin.
“Thanks. It was a lot of work, but I wasn’t allowed to have a social life anyway, so I figured it was the best use of my free time,” I shrugged. “Plus, I think it’s the only reason I got hired to my dream job with the Mercier Group.”
“Right. And which Mercier brand is it that you work for?” he asked, referring to the fashion conglomerate that owned my company.
A crooked grin wiggled onto my lips before I replied. “Minx,” I said, watching the name recognition flash in his eyes.
Like everyone in the world, Iain knew it. It was a lingerie company. The lingerie company. He’d definitely seen their billboards before, generally in Soho or on the Lower East Side.
“Minx was your dream job?” Iain questioned, his brow furrowed.
“Yep. Since I was fourteen.”
When he said nothing, I gave a knowing look.
“You’re curious as to why I got obsessed with a lingerie company when I was fourteen, but you’re too afraid to ask,” I laughed. “And in your defense, a part of you also doesn’t want to know,” I added, reading him so thoroughly that he had to raise his eyebrows.
“That’s accurate.”
“I know,” I smirked.
I was being smart with him, and though I was doing it again—treading into dangerous territory—he wore a hint of a smile on for me this time. Probably because I was grinning with such amusement for the whole situation.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll spare you the back story of my teenaged love of demi-cup bras and lacy garters.”
He nodded but said, “I know it anyway. You’re not the only one who can put two and two together, Holland.”
“Oh, no? Enlighten me then.”
Iain smirked, drawing my eyes to his gorgeous lips as he took a drink from his glass.
“Your mother thought skinny jeans were provocative. Considering she wouldn’t let you dress yourself or wear makeup, it isn’t hard to figure out why you’d find yourself enamored with a company that sold female sex appeal.”
I paused, my eyes shifting to the side as I processed his completely spot-on reading.
“That’s… correct,” I said slowly, openly impressed. “The phrasing wasn’t quite so streamlined in my head, but yeah. That’s completely right.”
Iain laughed. “I know.”
I rolled my eyes at his response but smiled, letting out a bit of a sigh.
“Yeah, I used to have a friend named Kelsey… you met her a few times, but you probably don’t remember her,” I said, and considering no shred of recognition registered on Iain’s face, I was right. “Her older sister used to get Minx catalogues in the mail, and we’d steal them every time and go through them during lunch and just die over how pretty and lacy and sexy everything was. We wanted so badly to be like those girls, and eventually, we convinced her sister to help us order some pieces. And I’d just be quietly thrilled wearing it under my clothes at home as like… my silly little form of rebellion against my mom.”
I watched as some amusement faded from Iain’s expression. But he said nothing, so I went on.
“Even after the whole… thing happened my junior year at school,” I swallowed at the mere mention of it, “and I wasn’t friends with Kelsey anymore, I found a way to keep ordering Minx here and there with like, money my grandma would sneak me when she visited,” I laughed, my gaze floating off as I got lost in my memories. But I wasn’t so far gone that I couldn’t recognize the hilarity of my grandma-funded lingerie collection. “I don’t know,” I giggled softly. “I was young and angsty and it just made me feel like one part of me was my decision. My taste. Even if no one could see it, I knew it, and I felt it. And it made a difference for me somehow,” I said, quiet for a second, reveling in fresh delight for the fact that I actually worked for this company now. Then
I felt a rush of blood flood my cheeks and my lips, and I looked up at Iain, well aware that I was about to push it with him. But I said it anyway. “I used to wear it around you.”
His expression had already hardened, but it turned to something fully humorless at the sound of my words, and that signature sternness returned to his voice as he said, “I don’t want to know that, Holland."
Ugh.
Why did I get so wet when he took that tone with me?
My eyes teased him over the rim of my champagne flute as I sipped my Prosecco. “What? You don’t like knowing that when you were taking me for ice cream, I was wearing slutty lingerie under my—”
“Holland.”
I bit my lip. “I used to just lay in bed and think of you while I was—”
“Enough,” he growled. And I knew he was mad mad because there was no hint of expression on his face. It all stormed behind his eyes as he glared unyieldingly at me, visibly furious. But several beats of silence passed, and just like that, his voice returned to something even and smooth as he asked, “Do you enjoy testing me?”
“Apparently.”
“Why is that?”
I looked at him for a couple seconds, feeling myself partly zone out as I realized my answer to his question in real time.
“Because you’re so serious now. And different,” I replied, my gaze sinking into Iain, but my head drifting somewhere far away. “You used to be wild and crazy, but you were also warm and sweet, and I liked you more than I liked anyone I knew,” I said honestly. “I used to count down the days till your next visit, and even when you weren’t talking to me, and you were just hanging out downstairs with Adam, I felt better just knowing you were at my house. Because you were nice to me, and you looked out for me, and you were the only one who would ask my opinion on things,” I murmured, my voice almost dreamy. “But then one day you up and disappeared from my life like you’d never been in it at all, and nobody talked about it or told me why. You just stopped coming to stay at our house and you didn’t return the emails I sent to see how you were doing. You took over your dad’s agency like you said you never would, and you became this fancy New York big shot with no sense of humor, who only ever gets his way.” Adrenaline rushed through me despite the softness of my voice. “So… yeah,” I concluded with a little shrug and a smile. “It’s kind of fun to piss you off sometimes. I think you deserve it a little,” I whispered with something of a wink, as if I were letting him in on a little secret.
I had no idea where I’d gotten that surge of confidence just now.
But wow.
It felt good.
Damned good.
It felt like five years’ worth of suppressed feelings being lifted off my chest out of nowhere, because I hadn’t planned this, I’d just done it. To Iain’s face.
And it felt fucking amazing.
“Oh. And it turns me on when you’re mad,” I added quickly, with a snap of the fingers, as if that was a very crucial detail to this story. “So there’s that.”
For some reason, I enjoyed being blithe and bouncy as Iain stared at me, ever icy and serious, completely proving my point. His expression was stone even as he lifted his eyebrows with interest.
“What about it turns you on?” he questioned, a chill in his voice.
“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “I guess I think the madder you are, the harder you’ll fuck me.”
“What if I just don’t fuck you at all?”
“What? Like as punishment for being a bad girl?” I asked. When he gave no response, I smirked, feeling something wicked take over me. “Oh, I think I could change your mind,” I said reassuringly.
“And how would you do that?”
I detected the curiosity glinting in Iain’s eyes, and just like that I knew we were back on the same page. Playing the same game. He wasn’t pleased with me, no, but he still going to fuck me.
Apparently, that was just how it went with us.
“Oh, Iain!”
Brooke’s voice pierced sharply through our heated silence, a noise so sudden and unwanted that I had to laugh when she reappeared obliviously at our table.
“Oh my goodness, I was supposed to tell you the funniest story,” she said, facing only Iain as she went on about some friend of his who’d come in the other night, and something funny he did.
Lord.
She was so animated, so eager to recapture his attention that in the midst of gesturing with her hands, she flung her pen on the floor.
It rolled just under our table and as Iain bent to pick it up, I didn’t think twice, parting my legs the moment his gaze was at the level of my thighs—nice and wide to make sure he’d see what I wanted him to see.
I smiled at his noticeable pause.
My core muscles fluttered with anticipation as he came back up with the pen, handing it to Brooke then cutting his eyes sharply to me, with such a heavy look that Brooke peered back and forth between us for a few seconds and then excused herself, barely gone before Iain cocked an eyebrow and said, “Really.”
I feigned innocence. “What?”
“No panties tonight?”
I crinkled my nose. “They always get so wet around you. Figured I’d just skip them altogether tonight.”
“Careful.” His tone was cautioning as he leaned back in his seat. “Keep talking like that and I’ll bend that pussy right over this table.”
“Mm-hm. With all these people watching?”
“Get me harder and I will.”
I smiled broadly. “Now that’s the crazy Iain I’ve known and wanted since I was a little girl,” I said, laughing when he grimaced. “What did I say? ‘Little girl?’ God.” I shot him a look of part-real, part-teasing disbelief. “The age difference bothers you so much, doesn’t it? I know from Adam that you’ve backflipped off a sixty-foot cliff before. Of all the things Iain Thorn would be scared of doing, I didn’t think it would be having sex with a younger woman,” I said. Then I paused and cocked my head just so. “Or should I say a little girl?”
An unfamiliarly dark excitement brimmed in me as I actually watched my words gnaw through Iain’s last ounce of patience.
“You’re earning yourself a hell of a rough fuck tonight, Holland,” he said.
“Good thing you don’t scare me,” I countered.
And I meant it until he took his phone from his jacket and called his driver, his glinting stare fixed on me as they spoke.
“Yeah. Pull the car around, but wait outside till I give further notice.”
I blinked. Oh…
Shit.
As I fully processed that I wasn’t going to be fucked on the comfort of a bed tonight, Iain rose to his feet. “Get up, we’re leaving,” he informed me.
“But—” I looked down at the table. “What about the check?”
“They have my card on file. Get up now.”
His tone left no room for further hesitation, so I got up.
Then with his hand firm on my lower back—and the energy thrumming palpably between us—Iain guided me through the crowd and escorted me out.
16
IAIN
I let Holland in the car first then got in myself, barely seated before I was enjoying her little yelp of surprise as I pulled her over my knee and flipped her skirt up. With one hand holding her in place by the hip, I smoothed the other over her bare cheek, fully enjoying how fucking plump and round her ass was before I raised my palm in the air and spanked her so hard her arms shot out to grasp the armrest on the door.
“Iain!” she cried out with such petulant shock I had to smirk.
“What?”
“I…” I couldn’t see her face but I knew she was frowning as she tried to figure out why she liked that. “I don’t know,” she finally mumbled, making an offended sound when I laughed.
And as she pouted confoundedly through her little sexual revelation, I took a moment to admire my view of her lower body laid naked over my lap. Her arched back was slowly relaxing, but I coul
d hear her whispering holy shit under her breath as she felt my dick throb fully hard under her stomach.
“For the record,” I started patiently, smoothing my hand over her ass again, giving a little squeeze. “Anytime you decide to test me like that,” I tilted my head, spreading her cheeks apart with both hands, admiring the gleam of her soaked pussy before I dipped two fingers inside, “you’ll be punished for it,” I murmured, pushing languidly in and out several times before spreading her sopping wetness onto her cheeks and administering another brutal spank. Her yelp was more a moan this time around and the sound made my cock twitch under her as I asked, “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she replied, her voice struggling and strained, yet somehow still tinged with a hint of mischief. “But what if I like this?” she asked a bit smugly.
I paused and gave her a second to be satisfied with herself before I said, “Feel free to. That part wasn’t your punishment.”
The way she instantly stilled and silenced put a smirk on my lips, but then she peered over her shoulder at me with an expectant look.
“Well, what is then?” she challenged, arching an eyebrow. “And what are you waiting for exactly?”
I eyed her, knowing well that she was deliberately pushing me. Asking for it.
So without wasting any more time, I spanked her again. Then again. Repeatedly—finger-fucking her in between each blow. My pace was immediately rapid, brutal as I alternated between thrusting inside her and palming her pussy, cupping her full length in my hand and sliding my fingers under her body to furiously stroke her clit.
But anytime she got close, I withdrew my hand, switching from stroking to spanking, and repeating the process over and over till she was whining endlessly on my lap, grinding her hips desperately against me.
“You want to come, don’t you?” I asked, my dick throbbing as she whispered yes and please on repeat, practically humping my hand.