Afterlife (Knights of the Board Room #4)

Afterlife (Knights of the Board Room #4) Page 25

A far cry from a mere day ago, when she"d worried about whether or not she could get excited enough to produce her own lubrication. As she watched a bead of it roll down her thigh, she couldn"t sort out her feelings at all. She felt so incredibly desirable, as if any man near her right now would smell how ripe and ready she was to be taken.

And yet, he"d also see that collar. Her hand went to it now, curved over it, felt the restraint. She belonged to a Master. So they could smell how slick she was, how entirely…fuckable, yet she was off limits. Until he came to her.

Goddess, she was losing her mind. Was this why he"d done it? She couldn"t seem to have a rational thought. How was she going to make it through the hours until their dinner?

Turning toward the bathroom, she turned on the cold spigot in the tub full blast.

He"d told her she better follow his instructions, and one of them was taking a bath.

She"d take another tomorrow—or rather, later today—but right now she"d immerse herself in the cold, turn herself blue and chattering if she had to do it, but she had to relieve this ache somehow. Her mind was still trying to tell her she was making the biggest mistake of her life, sliding down a hill toward misery and humiliation, disappointment. But that weak voice couldn"t outshout her body, what it wanted, what it would have.

He"d known it. Damn him and bless him both.

In the morning, she made an unexpected decision. He"d told her when he arrived that night, he wanted her in only the lipstick and red heels. She arranged both out on the bathroom counter, so she"d see them while she was cleaning and cooking, but she decided not to wear any clothes at all today. Somehow, it felt right, as if he himself might have pushed it that far, if he"d thought she could handle it. She could imagine the way he"d say it.

You won’t wear clothes in your apartment unless I command it. She also found it was easier to bear the friction of that harness he"d put on her, though not by much.

He"d told her to meditate for an hour. When she dutifully stretched out on the floor of her workout room, she chose the position she preferred when she was under great stress, Da Vinci"s Vitruvian Man pose. Since it was a symbol of proportion and balance, it had helped her in the past. Legs spread out to form a roughly equilateral triangle, arms stretched out to either side and pointing up so that a straight line could be drawn from one to the other through the center of the head.

Assuming the pose, she scoffed inwardly at the idea that she was going to be able to calm and center her mind, knowing how difficult the meditation portion of her previous night"s class had been, and the restless night she"d had. However, while she lay there, trying to focus on the breathing, things took an unexpected turn.

As she brought herself to mindlessness, spiraling down, breathing slow and deep, she became aware of every movement that such breaths made across her body, as if she"d become a pond with a flirty breeze dancing over it. And she wondered what would happen if she stopped trying to fight it.

She didn"t mean give in to her body"s desire to climax, flout his will. Not that.

However, instead of struggling to stay so far from that climactic edge she made herself crazy over it, she wondered what would happen if she instead played near it. What if, instead of keeping herself so far out of range she was out in the cold, miserable and envious, she enjoyed the heat of that fire without immolating herself?

So as she lay in her somewhat meditative state, she let her hand drift first to her throat, then down, trailing over her sternum. When she cupped her breast, her lips parted on a tiny sigh at the feel of it. She had soft skin, and tonight it would be even softer. She"d already put out those bath beads, the moisturizers she"d add to the bath water tonight. She had a honeysuckle scent she thought he"d like.

She also had a honeysuckle vine growing on her back balcony. Maybe she"d don a robe briefly to bring in some of the blossoms, scatter them in the water. Draw out the center stem to touch that one bead of sweetness to her tongue, imagine it as a bead of fluid on the tip of Jon"s cock. She"d hungered to taste him yesterday, enough that she"d begged for it. If he had let her leave his office the way she came to him, she would have been mortified remembering that now. Instead, locked in the erotic restraint he"d given her, she licked her dry lips, recalling the way he"d looked, the thick root of him hard against his slacks.

When her fingers grazed her nipples, her hips pressed deep into the carpet, her pussy making that ripple. She kept traveling down, her palm against her stomach, tracing the edge of her pubic area. She didn"t touch the clit piece, but she played along the creases of her thighs, wiggling and smiling a little at the sensations that chased themselves up and down her body. God, she was alive, and on fire. Yet she was also a mixture of other things. She was all sensation, every element known and unknown.

Lifting her arm, she blew along her skin, watching the fine hairs rise. As she dropped the limb back beside her head, she arched up, readjusting her stance to that Sleeping Thunderbolt pose, remembering Jon in it, but now imagining he"d ordered her to hold this asana while his palms molded her breasts, while he inserted a vibrator in her pussy so she came in this restricted position, all muscles straining, a scream bursting from her throat like a war cry. A cry of freedom…the freedom to chain herself to him, accept his collar with no guilt or worries. The muscles strummed in her thighs, her lower belly.

You’re fooling yourself. You’re visiting Disneyland, and when you come back out the gates, you’re going to be the same middle-aged, tired woman who went in there. You’ve just been dazzled by pixie dust.

Fine. She"d let herself be dazzled. The collar on her throat gave her permission, right?

The knock on the door was unexpected, but she wouldn"t be surprised if Jon had sent his driver back with bagels this morning, an excuse to make sure she wasn"t trying to run errands by herself. No worries there. She"d been so worked up last night, she"d had the driver take her to the grocery store after yoga, certain that she wasn"t going to leave the house at all today. Having to pretend she wasn"t on the cusp of a knee-buckling orgasm around normal people had been too difficult to contemplate.

If it was the driver, she"d have to apologize. Beyond hardly noticing him in his position in the shadowed front seat, she wasn"t sure if she was supposed to have tipped him. He"d been considerate, not engaging her in any superfluous conversation, though he"d escorted her to her fourth-floor apartment, carrying up her groceries and making sure she locked her door after him. She"d remembered a large man who reminded her a little of Peter. He"d had serious eyes and a steady hand at her elbow, but beyond that the details were a little hazy.

Rising from the floor, she slid into the terrycloth robe, the only robe she had. She wished she had something silky and provocative, but then, it wouldn"t matter tonight, would it? Jon didn"t want her to wear a robe. For one heart-jumping moment she wondered if it could be him at the door, his plans changed so that he could come early and end her torment, but Janet had told her they were definitely traveling.

Therefore, she was mildly disappointed but not surprised to see the driver through the peephole. She was surprised to see who was with him. Unlatching the door, she pulled it open. “Dana. Good morning.”

The slim black woman smiled and tapped her cane against the driver"s calf. “I told Max I could figure out how to get up three flights of stairs and count down to your door, but he"s like a big, goofy guard dog.”

Max lifted a brow. Now that she saw him in the light of day, she realized he was in fact a great deal like Peter. Not as in family resemblance, but in build and coloring.

Dark blond hair, gray-eyed, large boned and lots of trained muscles that she"d bet had been used in military service. He towered over both women, and had shoulders perhaps even wider than Dana"s fiancé. Rachel decided Max could be quite a lethal guard dog when he wanted to be. However, his gaze was laced with fondness for his charge.

“Maybe I wanted to see a sweet-natured woman for a change, so I thought I"d come up here with you and see Ms. Madison.”

“Nice.” Dana punched him in the side. With approval, Rachel noticed she packed some strength behind it.

“The shoulder"s doing well.”

Dana cocked a brow. “I"m not here to visit my physical therapist, thank you very much. You try to bend me into a pretzel today, I"ll leg sweep you and pound you like a sandbag.”

Rachel laughed. “Come on in then. I"ll offer you some tea. Max, would you like some coffee?”

“No, but thanks.” He guided Dana over the threshold, met Rachel"s gaze. “I"ll come back for her when she gets out of line. Which will probably be about the time I get to the car.”

“Go away, Cujo.” Dana waved her cane in his direction. “Go maul a few preschoolers. I"ll call you when I"m ready to leave.” Max gave Rachel another smile. His gaze drifted briefly over the loose fit of the robe, the collar it revealed. Was it her imagination, or did he linger on her cleavage, tracking that tempting silver chain until it disappeared into unseen regions? He didn"t make it overt or inappropriate. Two days ago she might not even have registered such a quick flash, but her ramped-up hormones were honed to any evidence of male awareness.

On her side of things, now she couldn"t help but notice the way his shoulders filled out his chauffeur"s uniform or wonder what his lower torso might look like without the drape of the coat hiding it. Her cheeks flushed as he caught her gaze on its downward sweep, but he simply gave her a nod and turned back toward the stairwell. “Lock the door,” he called over his shoulder.

After Rachel drew Dana in and closed the door, the black woman made a face.

“He"s such a worrywart. Believe me, he"s standing on the stairwell listening. And he"s like one of those trick ponies that can count. If you slide the deadbolt in and out really fast, like twenty times, he"ll still know if you stopped on locked or unlocked. He"ll come back if it"s not locked.”