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  His wolf smile grew wider still, and the mask fell off. He took the hand from his chest and kissed it. “Of course, Ms. Kitteridge.”

  ***

  In the limo, three days later, on the ride to his country estate, he pinned me with those smoky eyes and said, “I get the distinct impression you don’t like me, Kitty, and yet we’ve never met.”

  I stared at his silk Armani tie rather than meeting those too penetrating eyes. “No one calls me Kitty.”

  He shrugged. “I do.”

  I crossed my arms over the polka-dot bodice of my spring dress. “That, right there, is why I don’t like you.”

  He quirked an eyebrow up. “You have a problem with self confidence?”

  “No,” I said. “But with dripping arrogance? Yeah, I’ve got a little problem with that.”

  He gave me a sideways smirk and chuckled. He leaned forward and put a hand on my knee. “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that one, sweetie.”

  “Don’t call me sweetie, either,” I snapped, brushing his hand away.

  He held his palms up in a gesture of surrender that surprised me. “Is this about the hating women thing?”

  I felt my face heat, and I covered it with one hand. “Lynette told you that?”

  He plucked some ice from a round chest in a mini bar in the back of the limo, plopped it in a glass, and poured amber colored scotch over the clear cubes. All the while, he smirked smugly at me. “You shouldn’t believe rumors and tabloid gossip columnists.” He took a sip.

  “Some of those rumors come from very good sources,” I countered, swatting an annoying strand of sable hair from my eyes

  “Still, there are three sides to every story,” he said, moving from his seat across to sit by me on the opposite side of the stretch luxury car. “Yours, mine, and the truth.”

  He had me there, I thought, as he trailed a finger up my slender arm. “Touche.” Then I plucked the finger away and returned his smarminess with some of my own. “Hey, I thought you were gay?”

  He gave me a disapproving look and turned the table on me. “Is there anything wrong with that?”

  “Of course not,” I sputtered. “My brother’s gay, thank you very much. And I love his partner more than him, but that’s another story.”

  “No, I’m not gay, and I don’t hate women.” He shook his head and narrowed his eyes as he studied my face. I could tell he was reading me, looking for something, and his blatant perusal unsettled me. I could smell a hint of scotch on his breath. “Let me tell you where the misogyny charge comes from. I have a problem with anyone—male or female—who enters a relationship on false pretenses. In short, I don’t like people who marry for money. Gold diggers, if you will, disgust me.”

  His lips were inches from mine now, and they were far too kissable for my safety. “Some people don’t marry for love.” I shrugged, then tried to casually put some space between him and I by placing my shoulder purse there and subtly inching back. “Some make deals. To some people, it’s still a contract. A more mutually beneficial one these day, but I get it.”

  He wore a scathing expression that made him look like he was smelling really bad cheese. “Would you do such a thing?”

  “No, I prefer to be self sufficient, and I work hard to stay that way.” I maintained eye contact, not wanting to back down to his intimidation. “I don’t like to let anyone have too much power over me.”

  He nodded and his eyes narrowed further. I felt like a dare passed between us, and he’d just accepted the challenge.

  “But everyone’s different,” I continued. “I try not to judge. Who knows why someone chooses to go the route they do. Life can get complicated.”

  He kept staring, not wanting to break the eye contact and lose the challenge either. “Yes, I know that all too well.” His words held a cryptic air.

  I decided to change the subject. “So, why me?”

  “To design the suit?”

  I nodded.

  The predatory, yet undeniably sexy, smile returned. “Because I plan on seducing you during your stay, Kitty. You see, you may not know me, but I’ve read all about you and your fast climb up the fashion world ladder.” The smooth pad of his thumb glided down my cheek. “I want to take you into my world. The suit you’re going to design is a very special suit, and in order to do it, you’ll need to experience every side of me fully.”

  I clutched my purse until my knuckles ached, but my face wore a mask of cool composure. “I thought I said there would be rules.” I removed the finger he now stroked down my clavicle.

  The lethal smile inched higher. “Rules are meant to be broken, Kitty.”

  ***

  “Pearls,” he said, after he’d whisked me into the expansive foyer of his palatial home. “These will be my first instrument of pleasurable torment. I heard about this trick from an old friend, Ian Sterling, a member of the Dollhouse Society. Ever heard of the place?”

  He held open a red mahogany jewelry box that spilled over with iridescent, milky pearls.

  I looked at him in confusion. “No, can’t say I have.”

  He fingered the gleaming necklaces. “It’s a gentleman’s society of sorts.” Then he reached for my wrist, but I expertly slipped out of his reach. “Aren’t you curious about how I plan on torturing you with pearls?”

  I put my hands on my hips, flashed him a frowned that turned my cupid bow lips down. “I came here to design a suit. Sex was not part of the contract.”

  His patent smugness was back as he said, “How fortunate I have a new contract that fixes that.”

  I swept my sable hair back from my face and raised a well-shaped eyebrow at him. He slipped a sheaf of papers out of the lapel of his pinstriped suit and handed it to me. I hesitated, continuing to give him a dubious up-and-down for a moment longer before I assessed this new deal.

  I scanned an itinerary of bondage and domination, with a little sadism and masochism thrown in for spice, or so Blaine claimed. He studied me as I asked questions and scrutinized the proposed contract. I knew he was looking for a blush, a sign of a shy girl intimidated by his offer. Well, he’d get none of that. I’d learned long ago how to use my beauty to my advantage, and my sexuality. If he thought this was the first time a man had proposed wild sexual liaisons to me, he was wrong.

  Before my parents moved back to America with me and my brother when I turned fifteen, to continue expanding my father’s textiles business, I was Ms. Junior Mexico. Dad met our mother in Mexico—a savvy businesswoman ahead of her time who’d worked her way into Mexican politics and met my father then.

  I almost went into modeling, but I decided, like my father, I would work with material, only instead of shipping and distributing, I would shape and design. And in my travels with my family, and my brief time on the beauty circuit then moving into fashion design, my beauty had netted me an ardent admirer or two with kinky inclinations. Plus my father had been a no bullshit type Texan who taught me young how to deal with a snake. So it doesn’t make me bat and eyelash, but it does rankle me when the proposition comes from a man I loathe being in the same room with.

  “Surrender Inc.?” I scanned the contract a final time and pointed to the name of the club where many of these ‘play dates’ were supposed to happen.

  He placed a large hand in the center of my back as he drew nearer. “That’s the exclusive sex club I belong to.”

  His warmth spread through me, and it went deeper, burned hotter, with the weight of his words. Mostly, I was titillated by this idea, this proposition, but because it was issued by Blaine Devereux, my kneejerk reaction was to say no, stomp my polka dot stiletto in the toe of his Gucci, and walk away. But that was pride talking, and, like my father always said, ‘Katey, pride goes before a fall.’

  Plus there was Well Dressed Man and my career to think about. So I stared him straight in the eyes and said, “As soon as you transfer some money into my account, you’ve got a deal.” Then I held my hand out for him to shake.

 
His eyebrows shot up and I momentarily wiped that smirk off his face, replacing it with surprise. “Excuse me?”

  I was the one smirking this time. “Our original deal said you’d pay me and Well Dressed Man half our commission fee up front, and so does this one, correct?” I folded my arms over my breast, and noticed him staring at my small, pert wares. I cleared my throat and his fox grin, along with air of unyielding confidence, returned.

  “Yes, it did,” he confirmed, then he flipped open a slim, black laptop he’d brought in when he brought me the jewelry box full of pearls. These now rested at the foot of a curved, marble staircase, waiting to be used in the first of our games.

  “I’ll do an instant transfer right now,” he said, jutting his dimpled chin at me.

  “Good,” I said, giving him a haughty nod.

  The money was in my account seconds later. I checked via my Blackberry, swallowing hard at the confirmation and hoping he wouldn’t notice.

  But he took my hand, actually wagged a golden-brown eyebrow at me, and said, “Are you ready to begin, Kitty?”

  “When exactly are we going to take your measurements for the suit?” I asked, still curious about the piece I’d be designing.

  “First, I’d like to indulge you in the reason you’ll be designing the suit. Experience does wonders for inspiration.” He kissed my hand again, and this time he took the tip of my pinkie into his mouth and suckled it, swirled his tongue around its tip. He repeated this seductive process with the ring finger.

  I steeled my nerves, tried to think about cold showers and taxes to stave off my reaction to his touch. “I have loads of experience, thanks.”

  “Oh, so you’ve played with a master before?” His hands snaked around my hip and cupped my butt, drawing me close against his rock hard hip.

  I flashed my best feline smile. “Mr. Devereux, who says you’re the master?”

  He gave my butt cheek a firm slap at this and chuckled. “The contract states this will be a switch situation, but, today, my dear, you’ll be the submissive.” He captured my chin and then my lips, kissing my ravenously and quickly. I barely had time to react before I melted under his skilled lips and tongue, a tug of teeth here and there. I moaned in disappointment when he broke away from me. “Now, let me show you the playroom.”

  Less than thirty minutes later, I found myself naked atop a massive bed with ruby satin sheets and wrought iron rails lining its head and foot boards. This was section one of the massive playroom that spanned the entire basement of Blaine’s mansion. He hadn’t shown me the other sections yet, but he said there’d be plenty of time for that, to which I retorted, “No, there won’t.”

  Trying not to re-fan the flames of my anger, which instantly ignited when I was within two feet of this man, I focused instead on him emerging from a pair of mirrored doors that led to his dressing room / bondage closet, or so he’d called it.

  “This is the kind of suit you’ll be making me,” he said as he walked closer to the bed, clad in a shiny latex body suit that left most of his muscled arms and well muscled legs revealed.

  So I’d been hired to make a sex suit. I wondered what Lynette would say about adding this job to our portfolio now.

  “What? You’re not getting naked, too?” I said, and regretted my words not long after they left my pink glossed lips.

  His face stiffened, becoming a tight frown of intense discomfort. “I never let anyone see me naked.” He opened the red mahogany jewelry box and began selecting strings of pearls.

  This definitely had me curious. I tilted my head at him. “Never?”

  “No,” he said gruffly, splaying a large hand in the center of my back and pushing me down so my cheek pressed into the cool sheets. “Never.”

  “A playboy like you doesn’t shed his clothes?” I yelped when he wound the pearls too tightly around my wrists. “I don’t believe it. And watch it.”

  “Sorry.” His voice still sounded gravelly, but I was surprised by the apology. “We’ll have safe words.” And then he gave me these safe words, to be used if play should ever grow too rough for my liking. But he made sure the subject of his nakedness didn’t come up again. I was baffled, because under the latex molded to his physique he appeared to be all rippling brawn, a flat stomach, and thick legs corded with muscles. Why would someone as confident as Blaine Devereux fear being naked?

  As he went back to his treasure chest for more pearls, I was already formulating a plan. He’d get his sex suit all right, and I’d make him some bondage gear he would never forget.

  “What are you doing?” I asked as he urged me to flip over, so he could trail cool, smooth pearls over my breasts, tickling my nipples with their perfect roundness.

  “Seducing you, as promised,” he said, now lightly sweeping the precious, milky spheres down the curve of my ribs, over the flat plane of my stomach.

  My smooth, olive skin shone under the soft, globed chandelier overhead. As I watched him trail the pearls lower, I thought how beautiful the strings of expensive gems looked against my flesh. He traced the triangle between my legs, brushed the beads over the trimmed hair and my clitoral hood, but he didn’t part my thighs to tease me further. I moaned in disappointment when he took the pearls away from my throbbing sex, easing them down over my legs like glittering, globular snakes. I shivered when they wriggled over my ticklish knees.

  When he reached my ankles, he twined the string of gems around them until both were tightly bound together. Then he looked deep into my eyes, and his grey gaze seemed to swirl like ethereal clouds. The intensity of desire in his eyes made my pussy throb harder, my nipples tingle, and I realized then I wanted him as much as he wanted me.

  I didn’t like that realization, but a deal was a deal.

  He placed a hand on my stomach and one at my hip, then gently flipped me over. Admittedly, I wasn’t at all comfortable with giving him this much control, but I consoled myself with the thought I’d be control in one of these play sessions, too, and then I’d have my revenge.

  My ankles were gently drawn up, then he connected the pearls encircling them to the beads at my wrists. Trapped in this arched position, I was now completely vulnerable to him.

  With my cheek pressed into the satiny softness beneath me, I watched him draw another long string of gems from his treasure chest. He returned to me, then stroked the fine jewelry across my shoulder blades, down my back, and then over my ass. With his big fingers, he splayed my cheeks and slipped the pearls between them. They touched my wet slit, stirring the fire there higher, making me wiggle in my shackles and try to raise my hungry cunt up to take more sensation.

  He tut-tutted me for this, giving my firm, round bottom a little whack of reproach. I let out a yelp of surprise and fumed in humiliation, but I bit back a retort and remembered I’d be the one in charge later.

  He left the bed momentarily to take a small, velvet looking box out of a mahogany night table. I was about to ask what he was going to do with this, but he showed me a jar of lube that also worked as a stimulant, to heighten pleasure. And I knew exactly what he was going to do with it. His vulpine grin hid nothing.

  He made a sensual production of spreading my cheeks once more and lubing up my anus. He massaged my bottom tenderly at first, using his now slippery fingers to caress my apple cheeks. Lube was spread up and down my crack, and he slipped two fingers into my pulsing sex, then curled them to caress my g-spot too. I couldn’t hold back a loud moan at this.

  “I should punish you for your outbursts,” he said, dipping his head to kiss the center of my back. “But I’m enjoying them too much, so we’ll let it go, this time.”

  I wanted to fume at him more, kick him in the shins if I had the ability, but instead I took my ecstasy and plotted retribution.

  Cool, tiny spheres entered my ass, and he pushed the pearls deep inside of me, making my rectum tingle and burn wonderfully. In my bound state, I lifted my hips off the bed, unable to control their wanton reaction to his manipulation of my body.


  Then he got up on the bed behind me, and I felt his lightly haired knees brushed against the sides of my thighs. He bent over my prone form and whispered in my ear, “You look so beautiful bound in pearls, helpless to resist my touch. Now,” his voice turned into a carnal growl, “I’m going to fuck you while I slowly pull the beads from your beautiful ass.”

  He whacked it again for emphasis, and this time I snarled at him, which earned me an amused chuckle and another tut-tut. I hated the humiliation this situation put me in, but I loved what this bastard was doing to my body.

  A zipper on his suit briiiped open and a foil condom wrapper crinkled as he tore into it. Downstairs, when I signed the contract, we had discussed this. I informed him I was on the pill, and the contract informed me of his clean bill of sexual health, but I had to take a test guaranteeing the same. I figured fair was fair, and I admired his practicality.

  Then the hot tip of his glans glided up and down my now soaking wet seam. He braced my bound knees against his sculpted chest and parted my legs enough to give him entry. The cool, rubbery-smooth touch of his suit was an odd contrast to the live, lightly haired warmth of his skin, but not unwelcome.

  He caressed my aching sex and up to my asshole, where the pearls were still buried. I groaned and felt mad with the need to come, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of begging him to fuck me.

  “Would you like my thick, hard cock in your pussy, love?” he taunted, saying the words in a gravelly, guttural way that only made my torment worse.

  I bit my lip, huffed frustrated air through my nose, and still refused to beg as he ground the plump head of his cock into my clit. I shuddered and came right then and there from the pleasure and pent up fury. He laughed at my anger and still refused to make good on his promise to fuck me.

  “Want more?” he drawled, obviously loving my frustration. “All you have to do is say please fuck me, Mr. Devereux.”