Chapter 3 Clear Your Mind
Clear Your Mind
NAT
‘So tense,’ Adam murmurs in my ear as he massages my bare shoulders.
I smile tightly and force myself to focus on the perfect pleasure of his touch.
We’ve just left Darcy, Max and Dex at the Alchemy bar and come through to The Playroom to kick our evening up a notch.
Now he stands behind me, his body heat radiating against my back, and my own tired body just wants to collapse against him, let him take care of me.
It’s hard, though, because my crazy brain is refusing to cooperate. Usually, I love my insane levels of motivation. I applaud them. But I’m exhausted, and I wish to God there was a switch I could flip and turn the relentless internal monologue right off.
Next door, while Max told some highly amusing story with his usual storytelling aplomb and acerbic wit, I zoned out completely.
While I was stroking Adam’s thigh and laughing along with the others, I was actually cataloguing the celebrities attending Gossamer’s official launch next week, mentally listing those who’ve requested a dress, those who’ve been fitted, and those we’re still chasing.
The past two months have been a whirlwind of excitement and adrenaline and a learning curve so steep it may as well have been a vertical climbing wall with no footholds.
My incredible boyfriend-slash-brand-new-investor has been as good as his word, moving me into his palatial home between Christmas and New Year’s and forcing me to relinquish every part of my job that’s “below my pay grade” (his words).
That’s a lot of tasks, it turns out. And I’m relieved beyond belief that he’s taken that stance. I’m a grafter, and my instinct is to get stuck into the hard work, like packing up our hundreds of paper patterns and orchestrating the physical move to Wright’s headquarters in Victoria.
But no. Adam has insisted that that shit isn’t a good use of my time, and he’s right, of course.
Even before his investment in Gossamer was completed, he had his central HR function send me a pile of CVs, because one of our first priorities is increasing our team.
For good measure, he’s had employees from other brands within the Wright ecosystem get stuck in and help Gail, Evan and Carrie with the logistical side of things.
Instead, I’ve found myself in meeting after meeting, and I’ve bloody loved it.
My brain hasn’t stopped spinning for a good ten weeks now, but in a really great way.
Adam wants me working on my business, not in my business, as much as possible, so I’ve met with PR companies and branding experts and artistic directors and management consultants.
Neither has he wasted any time getting me in front of Omar Vega and his production team to collaborate on a concrete sustainability plan for that brand.
The sheer volume of incredible information available to me has me drunk on dopamine.
Every neuron in my brain is firing on all cylinders twenty-four-seven, and I’m finding it impossible to turn off the switch.
To know when enough is enough. The past few weeks, our evenings have consisted of shop talk over supper at the kitchen island or in front of the fire in the library, a warm bath or a handful of orgasms our preferred way to decompress before bed.
But Adam has quite rightly pointed out that running our businesses together requires not only serious boundaries but serious, intentional preservation of our non-work time. Otherwise, we could both quite easily do nothing but work.
This evening is an intervention of sorts.
I’ve told myself I won’t relax until next week’s huge launch party is out of the way, but I’m self-aware enough to know I’ll hurtle straight onto the next challenge without pausing for breath.
Tonight, we’ve come to Alchemy to see our friends and to spend intimate, important time together away from the constant bewitchment of our laptops.
When Adam Wright tells you he has a sure-fire way to clear your mind, you’d damn well better believe him.
* * *
I feel instantly more settled when he closes the door to the private room behind us.
Room Eight.
The room where he first seduced me. Where I pretended to hate every second, when really, I was a quivering, needy mess at his hands.
He always requests this room.
My boyfriend is a true romantic.
I tell myself that, anyhow, as I gaze up into those eyes of his, the black pit of his pupils swallowing up those pale blue rings.
He’s already shifted into Spanky Dom mode, and suddenly the prospect of emptying my head of its to-do list and putting my body and soul into his hands feels easy. Logical.
There’s breath work, and yoga, and meditation—and there’s Adam.
He looks so damn gorgeous tonight, as always.
So tall. So commanding. He’s in a black fitted shirt, top two buttons undone, sleeves rolled neatly to mid-forearm.
It’s tucked neatly into his custom Tom Ford trousers, showcasing the enviable flatness of his stomach.
The brushed silver buckle of his belt glints subtly, and let me tell you that his arse is a thing of such beauty in these trousers that I half wish I could compose a song to immortalise it.
He’s a walking men’s fragrance campaign, but it’s his face that gets me.
Always his face. The sensitive mouth. The pale eyes.
The look in those eyes as he surveys me, like he’s wondering idly what to do with me—to me, first. Boy, do I want to feel that immaculate beard scratch softly against my most sensitive body parts.
I want it roughing up my nipples, abrading my pussy.
I smirk.
‘What?’ he asks softly, sliding his hand around my neck. My hair is up tonight in one of the sleek ponytails he loves. I’ve tied a black velvet ribbon around the top for a girlishly chic touch.
I shake my head. ‘Just remembering that first time in here.’
His mouth twists as his eyes soften. ‘Hard to forget.’
‘Mmm-hmm.’ I hook a coquettish finger into his waistband.
‘Let’s hope you’re a little more compliant this time, eh?’
‘I think you’ll find me very compliant tonight,’ I purr. He grins wolfishly as the hand on my neck slides upwards to grab my ponytail.
‘This ribbon is very sweet. So innocent. Makes me want to come all over your face. I’ve been fantasising about it all evening.’
My jaw drops open before I spit out a shocked laugh. ‘Oh my God. I feel quite violated. But knock yourself out.’
‘Remember you told me I couldn’t come on your face or in your hair?’ he murmurs, eyes narrowed. ‘Well, I’m not sure you’re going to be in a position to refuse me tonight.’
My pulse quickens at the thought of him overpowering me. ‘Is that so?’
‘Yeah.’ He twists my ponytail more tightly around his fist. ‘Now, let me help you out of this dress, sweetheart. I’m going to need you very, very naked for the next part.’
‘On one condition.’ I may as well voice my wishes while I still have my autonomy. ‘I want you naked, too.’
‘Why?’ he asks with a grin.
I raise my eyebrows. Is he serious? ‘Because I can.’
‘That seems fair,’ he murmurs, tugging my head to one side with the hand fisted in my ponytail so he can drop kisses along my jaw. ‘But you go first.’
* * *
With Adam’s help, I make quick work of my dress—a fitted, strapless sheath in oyster-coloured satin that hits mid-calf and makes me feel like Lily Collins in Emily in Paris.
Omar Vega pushed it on me last week, claiming it was a sample that could use a couple of fabulous outings.
It’s gorgeous, and its built-in corsetry negates the need for any underwear except for a tiny cream lace thong.
No bra required (a benefit of small boobs).
My boyfriend’s expression shoots way beyond appraising to plain predatory as he holds my hand so I can step out of it.
I’m left in just a pair of strappy platinum Jimmy Choos and my thong—but not for long.
He lays the dress over a chair and steps towards me, looming over me as he hooks his thumbs into the sides of my thong and slides it down my legs.
When he stoops, it’s gallant enough to be at odds with the look on his face. And when he’s relieved me of it, he presses a kiss to my navel.
I stare down at him. That upturned face. Those beautiful eyes. They beseech me, and I already know I will give him everything.
I rake my fingernails through the curls at his temples, and he shudders with quiet pleasure, his eyes drifting closed for a moment.
‘Now what are you going to do with me?’ I enquire. That wolfish grin makes a swift reappearance. He gets to his feet, his palms gliding up the sides of my body as he does.
‘I’m going to make sure I get you exactly the way I want you. Get on the bed on your back, sweetheart, and starfish for me.’
I shoot him a saucy smile and do exactly as he asks, lowering myself down on the bed and stretching out, arms and legs spread wide. The room is wonderfully warm, the black satin sheets cool and sensual against my bare skin. I slide the sole of one foot over the luxurious fabric.
Adam casts me a glance that’s equal parts approving and possessive as he strolls over to the low, wide lacquered cabinet that runs along one wall. I take advantage of his back being turned to hoist myself up onto my elbows. He opens both doors and crouches, rooting inside as metal clangs on metal.
I have my suspicions about what lies ahead for me tonight, aside from the delights of Mr Wright’s twitchy palm, that is, but—
Yep.
I was correct.
He stands and turns, triumphant, two metal bars of identical—and considerable—length in his hands. They each have what look like a pair of leather cuffs with belt buckles dangling from them.
No cheap, nasty velcro closures for the esteemed patrons of Alchemy, I suppose.
I draw in a shuddery breath, because I don’t need to rummage in the recesses of my lust-addled brain for basic geometry to predict that those bars, or poles, or whatever they are, will force my legs into a seriously wide angle.