Chapter 4
Lila
Istood in the elevator of the luxury high-rise, arms heavy with bags from Samantha Grace Interiors. My heart raced, half thrill, half please-don’t-let-this-be-my-career-ending design choice as I watched the floor numbers climb. My first big solo project was finally complete.
Well, almost.
I glanced down at the discreet black box tucked among the packages.
The “Mist-a-Dick” had arrived late. When I opened it at the office, thinking it was just another decor delivery, Marlowe gave me a look that said she was absolutely telling everyone.
Leave it to Gideon to request such a... unique item for his new condo.
I shook my head, trying not to laugh. In our phone calls, Gideon had proven to be quite a character. He was flamboyant, witty, and full of surprises. His style was eclectic, but I’d enjoyed the challenge of bringing his vision to life.
Letting myself into the condo, I shifted the bags in my arms and scanned the space. The view alone was worth the pretty penny Gideon was paying for it.
Floor-to-ceiling windows framed Biscayne Bay and the Miami skyline, sunlight spilling in like a spotlight. For a split second, I forgot about the tackiness surrounding me and took in the sheer beauty of it all.
Then I turned toward the living room.
It screamed ‘rustic retreat’ louder than a moose bellowing across the Canadian tundra. Everywhere I looked, there was another moose or bear staring back at me. A chandelier made of antlers. A coffee table carved from a tree stump. A massive leather sofa flanked by plaid throw pillows.
I couldn’t help but giggle. It was so bad, it was almost good. Almost.
“I tried to warn you, Gideon,” I said to the empty room, remembering our heated phone debates. “But nooo, you insisted on going full lumberjack chic.”
Part of me cringed, but the other part? Weirdly impressed. It was campy, yes, but kind of cozy too. Like a ski lodge that had lost its mind. And hey, at least it wasn’t boring.
I pulled a throw pillow embroidered with a majestic moose from my bag of last-minute touches and grinned, thinking of Sam going wild with the credit card. My poor, pregnant boss had the time of her life ordering every bit of Canadiana she could find from her bed rest command center.
After one more look at the million-dollar view, I moved through the condo to check the details. Everything was exactly where it needed to be. Pillows fluffed. Curtains steamed. Decor set. Satisfied, I grabbed the black box and headed to the master bedroom for a last inspection.
This was Gideon’s pièce de résistance: a South Beach boudoir devoted to decadence and debauchery.
LED lights hidden in the crown molding bathed the walls in a sultry glow, while a disco ball spun lazily overhead, scattering shimmering stars across every surface.
A chrome stripper pole stood ready in the corner, and the king-sized bed, with its mirrored ceiling and built-in restraint system, promised nights of indulgence or incarceration, depending on your kink. I shook my head in amused disbelief.
I blinked, then let out a breath.
It was bold. Very Gideon.
But my favorite part? The gallery wall. I’d spent hours choosing just the right frames and layout for the photos Gideon sent me, and the result was striking.
I wandered over to admire the black-and-white close-up shots of an absolutely sin-worthy male body, every hard line and sharp angle poured into nothing but a pair of tight briefs that barely covered a thing. The man was a walking thirst trap, and the camera knew it.
“Well, hello there,” I murmured, drinking in the sight of washboard abs and chiseled pecs.
Each photo was a masterclass in mouthwatering male beauty.
The subject’s face was never fully shown, just tantalizing glimpses of a sharp jawline and the sensual curve of full lips, hinting at an intriguing mystery.
Whoever Gideon’s muse was, the man was capital-H hot.
Heat crept into my cheeks as I stared. Gideon had excellent taste, no doubt about it. I may or may not have saved a couple to my phone for… reference. A girl had needs.
Wrenching my gaze from the wall before my thoughts could stray into R-rated territory, I focused on the bed. Already immaculate, but I smoothed the sheets anyway.
One last thing, and I could officially call this project done.
I hesitated for a moment, then reached into the shopping bag and pulled out the black box.
Inside was an anatomically accurate, phallic-shaped mist diffuser.
Who was I kidding? It was an inflatable dick air freshener called the Mist-a-Dick.
Gideon had insisted it would tie the room together.
I set it on the bedside table, adjusting its angle to ensure it greeted every guest who entered the room. Then I tucked the extra scent cartridges into the drawer.
“There,” I said, brushing my hands together. “Mission accomplished.”
I scanned the bedroom with one last critical eye. Everything was in place. It was perfectly polished and utterly outrageous. Gideon’s home was officially ready.
Not for the first time, I wondered about the man behind the madness.
He certainly had great taste in men. My eyes drifted back to the sultry photos on the wall, each one more tantalizing than the last. My pulse kicked up a notch.
The heat outside had nothing on this place.
I was simmering inside, and just a little feral.
Almost in a daze, I moved toward the stripper pole in the corner, a sleek, shining invitation.
“Just checking the installation,” I muttered, giving it a firm tug. Solid.
On a whim, I attempted a seductive spin, which ended with me wobbling awkwardly in my pencil skirt. So much for unleashing my inner exotic dancer. I straightened up, smoothed my skirt, and tried to pretend it hadn’t happened.
My eyes slid to the king-sized bed. Black satin sheets shimmered under the low light, practically daring me to touch them.
I bit my lip as curiosity tugged me closer even as panic hissed.
The hidden restraint system was so far outside my comfort zone, it might as well have been in another galaxy.
I was basically the poster child for vanilla.
The thought of bondage should’ve terrified me.
Instead, it… sparked in a way I didn’t want to examine.
“Quality assurance,” I mumbled, crouching to fish out the restraints from beneath the mattress. “Purely professional.”
Before I could talk myself out of it, I kicked off my heels and crawled onto the decadent bed. The overhead mirror caught my eye, reflecting my pink cheeks and wide eyes. I nearly bailed right then, but something stopped me.
The absurdity. The heat. The sheer ridiculous fun of it all.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, I reached for the restraints. They felt cool and silky in my hands, sending an unexpected shiver down my spine.
A reckless impulse surged through me. I stretched out, spread-eagled on the bed, tugging experimentally at the four anchor points.
My skirt rode up scandalously high on my thighs, bunching around my waist. Staring up at myself splayed out like an offering, I imagined it was the chiseled Adonis from the photos who had me bound and helpless.
Heat surged through my body, pooling between my legs. A small voice in my head whispered caution, but it didn’t stand a chance against the pulsing throb of desire. My hand drifted down, inching closer to where I was aching the most. Just one touch.
In the mirror, I looked… wanton. Debauched. Nothing like the prim and proper beauty queen from Alabama.
My mind spun with fantasies, each one filthier than the last. I imagined strong hands gripping my wrists, a broad chest pressing me into the mattress, rough lips at my throat. I moaned softly, tugging on the restraints again, watching myself with shock but not wanting to stop.
My fingers found the lace edge of my panties and slipped underneath. A whimper escaped me as I slid one finger inside—
“Ahem.”
I screamed.
Flopping around like a fish in a net, I scrambled to untangle myself from the straps, limbs jerking, hair catching, skirt still hiked halfway to my hips. When I finally twisted around, breathless and horrified, I locked eyes with a man standing in the doorway.
A very large, very broad, very sexy man.
He arched a brow, arms crossed, clearly enjoying the show.
“Oh my God,” I shrieked. Mortification slammed into me like a freight train.
There was no salvaging this.
“I’m so sorry, I was... I mean... oh Lord.” I babbled helplessly, finally wrenching myself free and scrambling off the bed, tugging my skirt down as I went.
My face flamed hotter than the fires of Hell. I wanted to sink through the floor. Or maybe crawl under the bed and never come out.
I risked a glance at the stranger. He looked both amused and slightly terrifying, all broad shoulders, imposing build, and a stare sharp enough to slice through steel.
Fuck, he was gorgeous.
This had to be Gideon.
Great job, Lila. Nothing like greeting your client with your fingers stuffed in your pussy.
“Uh, I was just... testing the equipment? You know, for safety reasons...” I blurted, dying inside.
Yeah, because writhing on the bed with my skirt around my waist screamed ‘professional inspection.’
“Is that so?” He crossed his arms, muscles bulging under his fitted shirt, savoring every second of my humiliation.
“Um...” My brain short-circuited. Words? Now would be a great time.
“I didn’t realize anyone was here,” he said, his voice deep and gruff, cutting straight through my humiliation.
He didn’t move, just stood there like a Greek god carved out of Canadian timber, watching me flounder.
“Uh, yeah, I was... finishing up some last touches,” I managed, my voice strained.
“Touches.” A hint of a smirk played on his lips. “I noticed.”
Kill me. Bury me. Salt the earth.