Chapter 8
Casey
New York City, afternoon…
Thank goodness it was June.
Summer was an easier time to go commando than the cold months.
Thank goodness I was buried in deskwork today too, with the majority of my meetings of the phone or video variety.
I liked to wear short skirts and heels, or short skirts and boots.
Today I’d opted for a tight, knee-length skirt, since I didn’t need to perform any accidental Marilyn Monroe shows.
I’d never dressed panty-free at work before, and I felt like I had a naughty little secret when I popped into the conference room to visit with the product team for a meeting.
No one knew, of course, but the knowledge that I was bare had kept my thoughts on Nate all day long.
Being naked down there also meant I was turned on all day.
I was an electrical line, exposed and crackling, impatient to spark.
I’d even wandered past reception a few times, peering down the elevator banks for him. Each time, I struck out, and cursed under my breath.
The minutes ticked by. Now it was past three, and that man needed to show up soon because I was getting pissed.
I was turned on and I was frustrated, and that was not a pleasant combination.
I didn’t like games or being toyed with.
Leaving my door open, I picked up my phone and returned a few calls.
Midway through a conversation with a retail partner, he appeared.
Wearing a dark gray suit, a navy tie, and his jacket slung over his shoulder, held with one finger, he leaned against the doorframe.
My throat went dry. He was so damn sexy.
He didn’t even break a grin, just gazed at me with that same intense stare I’d seen in the hotel room.
“I’ll call you back,” I said into the phone and hung up.
“Hi,” I whispered, my voice sounding crackly and dry.
He nodded, then stepped inside, turned to the door and pushed it shut. He walked over to me, and when he reached my desk he set down a black box with a red bow on it.
“For later. But first, I need to know if you did as instructed.”
I nodded, eyes wide, cheeks flushed with heat.
He shook his head, and raised his finger to tsk me. “I need to know, Casey. That means,” he said, stopping to take his time, as if he were tasting each letter like a meal, “show me.”
Oh god. My heartbeat sped up, and heat thrummed in my body.
He gestured with his fingers, signaling for me to move back. I pushed back in my chair, inched up my skirt, and opened my legs. I was so damn glad the only windows in my office looked out over the New York City skyline, not the rest of the company.
His eyes narrowed, and he emitted a barely audible moan of appreciation. He walked around the desk, bent down, and cupped my chin in his hand. “Such a beautiful, bare pussy,” he said as he looked me in the eyes, then brought his lips to my ear. “I bet you want my mouth on you right now.”
“I do,” I said, my voice feathery.
“Wait,” he said. “Wait for later. Wait for me.”
Then he dropped his mouth to my lips and devoured me.
He claimed my mouth, kissing me so passionately it was as if kissing was making love, kissing was fucking, kissing was sex with our lips.
Heat pooled between my legs, where I ached.
When he let go of my mouth, my vision was still fuzzy, and I was floating above the earth on a cloud of lust. It took a second to register what he was doing.
He was reaching his hand between my legs, sliding one finger through my wetness, then bringing it to his mouth to lick it off.
“That’ll get me through the next few hours of meetings about our expansion into New Zealand.
At eight o’clock, I will be at your apartment.
Don’t open the box until I arrive. Wear something unbearably sexy that you think will drive me crazy.
Because it will. And have a drink ready for me when I walk in the door. Whiskey will do.”
Shivers raced across my skin, lighting me up from his commands.
No one had ever talked to me like this. He was so direct, so controlling, and so fucking sexy with his orders.
I’d never expected to enjoy this kind of play, but as he walked out the door, I wanted desperately to slam it shut and take care of myself, to slide my fingers across my wetness like he had, and then bring myself to release.
But I still had a modicum of self-control.
I would wait.
I would wait four hours. I would wait until he could take care of my intense, overwhelming need to come.
Even if it killed me.
He hadn’t told me specifically what to wear, but I was savvy enough to know what qualified as unbearably sexy. I donned a tight vegan leather skirt that hit mid-thigh, right at the top of my black stockings. A bit of lace from the stockings peeked out. He was a legs man, so I chose strappy heels.
Up top? A cherry-red bra.
That was all. I didn’t wear a shirt. I smiled to myself as I appraised the outfit in the mirror.
The lack of a shirt was my homage to my own need for control.
I had chosen this ensemble because I wanted to open the door with only a red lace bra on top.
It was my way of being true to myself. I just hoped Khashi, my neighbor across the hall, wouldn’t happen to return from work then.
A plastic surgeon, he kept odd hours between his job and his boyfriend, an actor on Broadway.
But then again, both of them would probably tell me to go for it.
I smiled at the thought of Khashi and Malik high-fiving me.
“You deserve the best, girl,” Malik would always say to me.
“And you’ll get it,” Khashi would second.
A woman could hope.
At eight p.m. precisely the buzzer rang. Electricity sparked anew in my bloodstream as I buzzed him in. I didn’t know what was in store for me tonight, but I couldn’t wait to find out what he’d planned.
As I walked to the door, I fluffed out my hair and glanced around the apartment.
He’d been here many times. He knew the kitchen with its exposed red brick walls, he’d lounged on my soft teal couch, and he’d seen the reprints of artwork on my walls.
It was a warm and homey loft in the West Village.
One window was open and the June breeze blew inside, along with the faint sound of traffic rattling through the Village on a New York City night.
But never had I opened the door to him like this. My fingers shook as I unlocked the chain and turned the knob to the right. The heavy door creaked, the soundtrack to my own nervous system and to my wildly beating heart.
My breath caught in my chest. He stood in the hallway wearing charcoal slacks, a crisp white shirt, and the navy tie.
My fingers itched to unknot that tie. He was rolling up the cuffs on one of the sleeves.
A businessman at the end of the workday—that’s what I would’ve named the photograph of him that I took in my mind’s eye.
“Did you open the box?”
I shook my head. He entered my apartment and I let the door fall shut behind us with a click.
He strolled casually to my kitchen, leaned against the counter, and tapped the wood.
I understood. The game was on. We were playing our parts.
Joining him in the kitchen, I grabbed the bottle of whiskey and poured him a glass, doing my best to keep my hands steady.
I watched his every move as he knocked back the amber liquid.
I imagined the burn in his throat. He set the glass down. It was nearly empty.
I stood near him, keenly aware that it was his move next.
This was a chess game, and I barely knew how to play. I swallowed dryly. Waiting. Uncertain.
I wanted a burn in my throat too. That would be better than all these nerves. I grabbed his glass and finished it.
“Do you want to open the box now?”
I nodded, grateful to have been given his direction. “Yes. I do.”
He tipped his forehead to the L-shaped couch in the living room.
I nodded briefly, and walked over to the couch.
I sank down into the soft material, stretching my legs out in front of me on the lounge section, crossing them at the ankles.
He joined me in the living room, choosing to sit on an ottoman, his knees spread, his hands resting on his thighs. “Open it now, Casey.”
Leaning forward, I reached for the black box and untied the bow, letting it fall to the floor.
Gingerly, with nervous fingers, I lifted the top, shimmying it off.
In seconds, I’d know what he’d planned, and a ribbon of excitement unfurled inside me from the possibilities.
I wanted to say something, but words escaped me at that moment.
I wasn’t sure how to vocalize all these unsteady feelings thrumming through my body.
Or if he would even respond.
Nate had always been easy to talk to. He’d always been chatty. But this version of the man was wearing steely silence like a new coat. All his moves were measured, chosen carefully, designed to keep me guessing as to what he had in store for the evening.
I put the top of the box on the table, and the guessing game ended when I dipped my hands inside the box and withdrew a long, silky scrap of fabric—a blindfold.
Next, I reached for a soft object, retrieving a feather tickler from his collection of goodies.
Finally, there was a small riding crop, as if it had been made in miniature, perhaps so it didn’t seem so scary.
I glanced up at him. His eyes seemed dark brown tonight.
Gone was that warm golden color, replaced with a heat, a sensuality and blazing desire for me.
I trembled. “What do you want to use first?”
He didn’t answer the question. Instead, he issued an instruction. “Lie back. Close your eyes.”