15. Kristoff Extends an Invitation
15
Kristoff Extends an Invitation
I f my life was a rom com, after I said, “Make me,” I’d have jumped up and run out of the office like my hair was on fire, Peter right behind me in hot pursuit. There’d be a chase scene with us going in doors and then out of them in no rational pattern, ala Scooby-Doo.
That is not my life, however. I know how to run fast. Even more, I know how to escape and hide and stay that way. If I run, I might be too fast and hide too well. Peter might not find me. Worse still, he might not pursue me at all.
Some people in life can play hard to get but that is also not me. Instead, I stand my ground, glare at Peter, and wait to see what he’ll do.
Peter gives me a calculated look. “How much do you like that suit?” he asks.
The question throws me for a loop. “What?”
“I know you have enough money to burn all your clothing after wearing it once, but maybe this one is sentimental or something.”
There is so much wrong in that sentence I have trouble deciding where to start, but in the end go with, “Why the hell would I burn my clothes after wearing them only once?”
Peter shrugs. “Don’t ask me. You’re the rich one in this equation.”
He sounds genuinely annoyed and I’m not sure why. Unless he thinks that Grandfather’s money should have gone to Father and then trickled down to him. The main reason why Grandfather left half of his money to Nonna and half to me is that he knew I wouldn’t have gotten a cent if he’d left the money to Father instead.
Even so, it’s not like Father’s hard up for cash. He has his own trust fund, set up when he was a child, and has been taking in the CEO salary from Minola since Grandfather retired from the position. Even assuming he hasn’t invested any of the money, and I highly doubt that, Father is a multimillionaire.
I give Peter a hard look, but it’s not him I’m scrutinizing. It’s his suit. I don’t look closely at clothes. I don’t even buy my own. I have a personal shopper who does that for me and a tailor to make sure everything fits correctly. I have the ability to pair a tie and shirt with a suit, but that’s the limit of my sartorial expertise. It would have, for instance, never have occurred to me to buy the floral tie I’m currently wearing. I can appreciate its quality, however.
Peter’s tie is horrible. He’s also wearing—okay, half- wearing—a white shirt, which is nearly impossible to fuck up, but the cuffs are fastened with buttons, not cufflinks. The suit itself fits him like a second skin, but that’s from tailoring. The material, on closer inspection, looks thin and cheap compared to what I’m wearing, and this is off the rack. Tailored after the fact, but not bespoke. Certainly not the best suit I own, but more than good enough to work in.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Peter asks.
“I’m not looking at you,” I clarify. “I’m looking at your suit. If you want to destroy clothing, start there. No, start with the tie, then you can burn the suit.”
Peter flushes. When a red head is embarrassed the entire world knows. “What’s wrong with my tie?”
“It looks like you bought it from Target.”
“Fuck you,” he shoots back.
“Tell me you didn’t really buy that tie at Target,” I say. “Was it some sort of tie emergency and all the other stores were closed?”
“ Fuck. You.” His words are short, sharp bullets shot right at me.
I wonder if burning his clothes is a kind of fetish for Peter. It’s the only explanation I can think of to explain that tie.
“Forget your ugly tie,” I say. “It’s none of my business. Since you asked, this suit isn’t my best, but I like it. It’s comfortable. I don’t want to burn it.”
Peter puts a hand over his eyes and sighs deeply. “No wonder you’ve only had sex with two people in your whole life. You probably annoyed everyone else until they went away.”
I try not to visibly flinch. I don’t want Peter to know how close that barb hit.
“Jesus Christ, Kit. Stop looking like I just drowned your puppy. I wasn’t being serious. God knows if being annoying kept people from getting laid the human race would have died out millennia ago. Okay. Let’s just… get on the same page, okay? You told me what you want: to be used. Kinky, but I can help you out there. Now I’m going to tell you what I want.”
I am totally unprepared for this conversation. Isn’t using my body enough? I guess not. I wish I could turn time back and erase everything that happened from the moment Peter showed up unannounced at my door.
“You paying attention?” he asks. At my nod he goes on. “Good. My list of demands isn’t long or complicated. I want all of you. Not just that mouth of yours. You wanna be used? Fine. But I’m going to use every last inch. So strip or so help me god I’ll hold you down and rip that suit right off your bony ass. Do you get me?”
All I can do is nod again. The idea of ripping off my suit is ludicrous. Burberry suits wear like iron, as Grandfather used to say. If he was going to tear it off me, we’d be here all year. I wouldn’t put it past Peter to start cutting my clothes off, however. I’m also not sure how I feel about him using every last inch of my body. It’s terrifying and makes me feel dangerously vulnerable, but at the same time that part of me that wants Peter to be in charge is full of feverish anticipation.
“I get you,” I say, then start to undress like a civilized human being who’s about to hand himself over to the literal enemy.
My body isn’t deformed, as Peter implied, but it’s nothing to write home about, either. I’m thin. Too thin, according to Nonna, but she thinks everyone is too thin. For exercise I run, a habit I picked up after being sent to my first boarding school and never lost. Running doesn’t pack on bulk, however. My legs are the only part of me with any kind of muscular definition.
I fold each garment as I take it off because it gives me something besides Peter to focus on, but eventually I’m out of clothes and have to face his scrutiny head on.
He stares at me with his mouth slightly agape. I’m probably worse than he imagined.
“As you can see, my dick is perfectly normal.” I pivot on my heel. “There’s nothing wrong with my butt, either. It’s shaped exactly like a butt.”
Peter stands and then circles around me, probably wanting to look at the merchandise from every angle.
“Well?” I ask, unable to hold in my nerves or impatience any longer. “Say something.”
Instead of talking, Peter traces a finger over me, slowly touching everything from my hips to my neck. That includes my cock, which is hard again despite Peter’s close scrutiny.
“Are you going to say anything?” I ask, sounding needy as hell but I can’t control it.
“You’re smooth,” Peter says, awe and wonder in his voice. “Perfectly smooth everywhere.”
I used to do this thing where I pulled out my body hair whenever I was nervous. I would pluck each hair out one by one and dig out anything ingrown with a pair of wickedly sharp tweezers. I started having my chest waxed, then my legs and pits, and lastly, after even the idea of hair anywhere but on my head started to drive me crazy, I found a technician who agreed to wax absolutely everything. She always jokes with me, saying I’m the only man she’s ever waxed that thoroughly who didn’t act like a big baby about it. The truth is that I love it. The pain is cathartic and being completely free of irritating body hair is my reward.
My last… lover, for lack of a better word, found it creepy that I was absolutely hairless, and I got used to staying as clothed as possible. Maybe it is weird and creepy, but it’s not something I’m going to stop.
“Is that… does it bother you?” I ask Peter. “Because it’s non-negotiable. I’m not going to stop waxing for you, of all people.”
Peter lets out a shaky laugh. “Me of all people,” he says then laughs again. “No, Kitten. I would never tell you what to do with your body. It’s yours. But this is…”
“Weird? Gross? Creepy?”
“Um, no. Not where I was going with that. How about beautiful? Or exquisite. Or sexy as fuck. I love it. I want to run my mouth over every single inch of your skin.”
I swallow down an unexpected lump in my throat. “That might take a while. Will there be meal breaks?”
Peter barks out laughter. “Sure, Kitten. Whatever you want.”
“What I want is you to not call me Kitten.”
Peter leans forward and at first I think he’s going to kiss me but instead his lips touch the sensitive skin between my ear and jaw. “Don’t hold your breath,” he whispers.
“Asshole. Are you planning this detailed examination—”
“With my mouth,” Peter interjects.
“—with your mouth,” I add dutifully, “tonight? Because I might end up falling asleep on you.”
Peter looks at his watch and swears. “How the hell did it get this late? I might as well sleep here on the couch. By the time I drive home, eat something, then take a shower, it’ll be time to come back to work.”
“You could just… take the day off,” I suggest.
“No,” he says, looking dead serious, “I can’t. The couch is fine, and it won’t be the first time I’ve slept here. I’ve got a pillow and blanket and everything.” He waggles his eyebrows in a way that’s supposed to be suggestive but just makes him look like he’s having a seizure. “You could stay, too. It’s a big couch and I can make a start on inspecting you with my tongue.”
“Hell, no,” I say with an incredulous laugh. “I have a perfectly functional bed, and it’ll take me less than fifteen minutes to get there. Besides, I have feline overlords to feed. And myself.”
As if on cue, Peter’s stomach growls loudly.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. I pinch the bridge of my nose for a few seconds then make up my mind, for better or worse. As I start to dress, I tell Peter, “You can sleep on the couch in here if you want, but I’ve got a spare bedroom. It comes with dinner. But this is a limited time offer so you better be ready to go once I’ve got all my clothes back on.”
Peter stares at me, watching me dress for several long moments, then hurries into action, righting his clothes. “You had me at dinner,” he says, once he’s ready to go but still waiting on me. “You don’t need to put your tie on to go two blocks,” he adds. “The faster we go, the faster you can feed me.”
“I already regret this decision,” I say to the room in general, but that’s a lie. I don’t want to go home alone tonight. I’m sick and tired all the way down to my bones of being alone. My furry overlords help a lot, but sometimes the human in me longs for the company of another human. Don’t ask me why. Humans are terrible. The one walking beside me to the elevator is the absolute worst.
But in some ways, I add in the safety of my own head, he’s the absolute best.