Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
A week after that first fucking of my bottom, Porter had to fly to California. The donor had demanded an in-person meeting, and the meeting mattered too much to delegate. He told me this while fastening his cufflinks that morning, already halfway in his professional armor, and I stood there trying to look as if my main feeling about his leaving was mature composure.
In reality my body had reacted first with disappointment and then, almost immediately, with a horrible hot curiosity. A night alone. In my wired apartment. With his rules.
Before he left he gave me instructions in that calm, measured tone that made everything sound settled and inevitable. Work. Meals. Bedtime. And because apparently he knew me too well already, he added, “If you play with yourself, I will cane you, just as I’ve told you before.”
CHAPTER 27
Porter
At least, I thought as I put down my bag in my suite at the Four Seasons, my day can only get better from here. The thought of opening up the surveillance feed from Alex’s apartment made the frankly shitty meeting with Anderson fade into the background of my mind in an instant. I sat down, loosened my tie, and opened the app on my laptop.
Alex’s bedroom filled the screen.
I had texted her my choice for her bedtime attire when I had landed at SFO. I supposed that should have told me something more significant about how I felt about her than it did at the time, but the idea of her in the pale green babydoll with the sheer little skirt and the cups that would barely pretend to cover her breasts had come into my mind with an urgency I couldn’t deny.
She looked irresistible in it, and my forbidding her to wear anything underneath seemed to glow in her eyes. I had chosen that nightgown because I knew the color would flatter her skin and her hair, and because the almost-childish sweetness of it would heighten the naughtiness of her nubile body’s nudity beneath its sheer fabric.
On the screen it did exactly what I had intended: it made her look innocent and pretty and helplessly sexy, all long white legs, red hair, pert little breasts, and those small, expressive movements of her lovely features that gave away, I knew, much more than she wanted.
She sat on the edge of the bed when I opened the feed, but a few seconds later she stood up and crossed to the window, then back again.
She’s restless, I thought immediately, my eyes narrowing a little even as my mouth curved into a smile.
Alex touched the hem of the nightgown. Then both hands went to it, gathering the light fabric in her fists before letting it fall. I watched her press her thighs together and close her eyes.
Very restless. I hardly noticed that my right hand had curled a little, as if in preparation of picking up a punishment cane.
I knew Alex knew I might be watching. I thought I could discern that knowledge in the way she tried to soothe herself, short of the self-soothing she really needed with such obvious desperation.
She paced back and forth for a little while. She paused by the bed and put a hand on the mattress as if she needed the support. The sight of her struggle began to undo the residue of the meeting with Anderson much more effectively than whiskey could have. His oily hints and strategic cowardice, his billionaire’s assumption that every person in the room existed either to flatter him or to be bought by him, all of it receded.
Alex, on the other hand, had become impossible to reduce.
She sat again, this time more slowly. One knee came up onto the bed. The little nightgown slid up her thigh. She took a breath that visibly lifted her breasts, and for one irrational instant I felt as if I could hear the thought moving through her.
No touching.
* * *
Alex
He couldn’t be watching, could he? It was much too early on the West Coast for him to watch. And Porter had no time to review surveillance footage, did he? So… I was safe, right?
I clung to that thought because I needed it, because the alternative made the room feel too charged, too full of eyes. Safe. The word had barely formed in my mind before I realized that my hand had gone between my thighs.
Not under the nightgown… not really; just pressing the heel of my palm there through the pale green fabric, as if I had done it absentmindedly. As if it weren’t exactly what he had forbidden.
I snatched my breath in, my body freezing in place.
I should have taken my hand away at once, obviously. Instead, I stayed very still, with my fingers gentle over my bare sex, feeling the pressure of it, feeling how my body answered even that. The nightgown was soft and thin.