"I hate you," I say when I come down from the high.
"No," he says. "You don't." He pauses for a moment, then slides his hand out of my dress. "I have another present for you," he says.
I decide it is safer not to ask, and he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a coil of ribbon with a hook on the end.
"What is that?"
"A leash," he says with a twinkle in his eye. "It will latch onto that loop even with the lock charm on the necklace."
I smile, feeling bold. "All right," I say. "Attach it. Then lead me back to the room and fuck me properly. But Ryan, you work here. I wonder what people will think."
"Probably that I'm the luckiest man in Vegas. But you do raise a good point." He reaches over and hooks the clip to the necklace. Then he lets the ribbon trail down, tucking the long end down my cleavage so that the remainder is hidden beneath my skirt.
I raise a brow. "People will still know."
"Let them."
I lick my lips, still aroused and more than willing to take this further. "Ryan," I say. "How would you feel about skipping dinner?"
He laughs. "Sweetheart, I wouldn't mind at all."
He waits until we are out of the elevator and walking down the hall to the penthouse to pull out the leash. When he does, though, I like it. There's pleasure in belonging to him, comfort in knowing that he is there. That I can rely on him. Go to him.
Talk to him.
A twinge of regret pokes at me as I remember that this is only temporary. But I push it soundly away. Right now, I am living only in the moment. Only in our arrangement.
I pause in the doorway despite the tug on the leash. He turns to look at me, mock disapproval on his face, and I smile. "Please, sir," I say, and watch his mouth quirk with amusement. "Will you take me to the window?"
He does, and we stand together, looking out onto the brightly lit Las Vegas skyline.
"All the women in the world," I begin. "You could have any of them, you know."
"Not any," he says. "Probably just ninety percent. Ninety-five tops."
I smile, then sober. "You chose me."
He moves behind me, then presses his hands to my shoulders and kisses the top of my head. "No kitten," he says. "We chose each other."
I turn and look out the window again. "Yeah," I say to our reflection. "We did."
I tilt my head and smile at him, then trail my fingers from the choker, down the leash, to his hand. "So now that you've led me here, what do you intend to do with me?"
"Oh, I think we can think of something," he says, and then unfastens my halter and unzips the back of the dress. It falls off me like so much gossamer, leaving me naked except for the silver collar, the lock, the red ribbon leash, and my three-inch heeled sandals.
"That," he says, "is a very pretty picture."
He gives the leash a tug, pulling me to him. I stumble into his arms, laughing, then kick off the heels.
"Maybe I'll just have you serve me wine and cheese like that."
"I would. But I think you can do better."
"Oh, I think I can, too," he says, then unclips the leash. He takes the ribbon and coils it in his hands. "Turn around, Jamie," he says, and I comply willingly.
"Now close your eyes."
I do, and then feel the gentle brush of the ribbon as he wraps it around my eyes--once, twice, three times, until it is at least as effective as a traditional blindfold. Then he pulls me down, laying me out on a soft, fur rug.
I wait for his touch, but it doesn't come. At least not at first. Then I hear the subtle shift in the air and hear the clink of ice in a glass.
"Do you like bourbon, kitten?" he asks, and when I nod, I find his finger on my lip. I draw it in, suckling, and listen as the pattern of his breathing changes with his growing excitement.
Gently, he pulls his finger away, then trails it down my belly. When he gets to my navel, I arch up, surprised by the quick, cold shock of an ice cube.
"You're delicious," he says, and I tremble in awareness as he licks and kisses his way down the trail, then sucks at my bellybutton, the sensation making me a little crazy.
"I want to make love to you," he says, and there is so much gentleness in his voice it seems to get into my heart and squeeze.
I reach for him, but he simply says, "no," and I put my arms back. "Not yet. Not until I'm sure you're ready."
"I'm ready," I say. "I'm always ready for you."
His answer is a murmur, and then he is upon me. Gently, sweetly. Hands, mouth. He strokes me, plays me, touches and teases me. If his goal is to turn me into nothing more than pure awareness, pure need, then he has accomplished it fully.
I am melting, wanting. And what I want is more.
"Please," I beg. "If I can't see you, at least let me touch you."
Gently, he lifts my hand and presses it to his chest. It is bare, and I stroke lightly over the smattering of chest hair. I find his back with my other hand and stroke down, delighting at the firmness of his tight, bare ass beneath my fingers.
"I can't wait," he says. "I want you, kitten, and I'm taking you now."
"Yes," I whisper, lifting my hips and spreading my legs. I want him in me, on top of me. I want to lose myself under the weight of him, to feel consumed by him.
He strokes me first, his fingers readying me, and I moan in pleasure and anticipation. Then I feel the head of his cock at my sex, the pressure of entry, and then the sweet thrill when he drives himself home.
We move together, anticipating touches, sharing kisses. It is sensual, romantic, soft and easy. He is right--we are making love, and that sweet reality makes me want to weep with joy even as much as it scares me.
He strokes me, bringing me higher and higher until I tremble in his arms, the orgasm rippling over me this time like waves upon a sunlit pond.
His coming is much more violent, and he cries my name as he finds his release, and I cling to him, urging him deeper and deeper, wanting every last bit of him.
We lay together, and he takes off my blindfold then smiles down at me. Then he pulls me close and holds me.
I sigh with delight and contentment. And as I curl up against him, I try not to think of how much I want to stay with him, and that all of this is leading to the one inevitable conclusion--me in Texas, and Ryan in California.
Chapter Eleven
I'm floating on an undulating sea, rising and falling, each wave battering my body and taking me closer, closer, closer to shore.
The water is warm and wet, slick and sensual. It moves over my naked skin. Teasing, seducing. Claiming.
It will suck me under, I know that, and yet I don't care. I want to drown it it, I want to go down, down, down...
"Hunter," I whisper as I slide out of sleep. My eyes flutter open, and I look up into the dark heat of his eyes.
His hands are pressed into the mattress on either side of my head, supporting his body as he moves slowly, languidly inside me. My body is alive--awake. Certainly more awake than the rest of me, though I'm getting there fast.
I spread my legs wider, giving him access, silently acknowledging that he has taken me in sleep--and that I like it.
He thrusts harder, again and again, until finally he explodes above me, and I watch as the orgasm draws him up, and then crashes him down upon me.
When his breathing returns to normal, he gently brushes his lips over mine. "Good morning."
I smile in return. "Nice way to wake up."
"You're at my mercy, after all," he says. "And I couldn't resist you naked and sprawled on your back, your legs parted, just beckoning for me. You were already wet," he said. "Wet and slick and hot before I even touched you."
"I was dreaming of you," I admit. "And then I was dreaming of this." I lick my lips, then swallow, foolishly embarrassed by what I am about to say. "I like it. I want to be used."
I see the heat flare in his eyes. "Do you. Why?"
I start to turn my head away, but he stops me with a firm finger on my chin.
"Why," he repeats.
"You know," I say. "It's because I'm yours." And then, because I have not yet had enough of him, I turn over, tucking my knees under me so that I am giving him my rear.
"I'm yours," I say, my voice low and meaningful. I look back over my shoulder. "Please. I want you. I want you first."
"Jamie, kitten." His voice is raw, and there's no mistaking the desire. "I don't want to hurt you. If you've never...without lube..."
"My purse," I say. "A holdover from my days of fucking around," I add, then smile when he smirks.
It takes him only a moment to find it, and then he is back. "You're sure?"
I want to tell him that I don't want to leave him. That I think, just maybe, I have fallen in love with him.
But that isn't something I can say, and it's not something I can give. But I can give him me. "Yes," I say. "Please, yes."
"Then come here," he says, pulling me up from my position on my knees. He crushes his mouth against mine in a kiss that is wild and deep and crazed with passion.
"I adore you," he says when we come up for air. "I want you. Hell, I want you more than I've ever wanted any woman. Christ, I'm hard again."
"You have me," I say as he moves down my body, stroking and suckling my breasts, then laving my sex with quick, fluttery kisses until I am squirming, so close to bursting I can feel the hum of the approaching climax in my blood.
"Turn over," he says. "Like you were, on your knees."
I comply, and his hands stroke my back, soft and sensual as if I am some fragile thing. His finger trails down further, and he explores my rear, his lubed finger sliding over me, easing inside me, readying me.
I close my eyes, my body trembling. I am not a stranger to anal play, but I have never had a man inside me. I'm glad. I want to have Ryan, and only Ryan, and now, as he gets me slick and ready, I try to relax. I concentrate on the throbbing anticipation in my cunt. In the tightness of my nipples. On the delicious sensitivity of my skin.
"You're ready, baby," he says, and I close my eyes, relaxing, opening for him as he presses his cock against my tight entrance. Slowly, he eases inside, and I suck in air, wanting him to stop, and yet at the same time wanting more.
"Am I hurting you?" he asks as he moves slowly and deliberately.
"No," I lie, because the pain is part of it. Like when he spanked my ass, the pain is mixed with pleasure, and I want it all. "It's okay. Please. More. Don't stop."
He takes me at my word, still moving carefully, but thrusting more intensely until, finally, my body seems to welcome him, and the pain melts in to something red and silky, like a memory of pain turned to pleasure.
I shift my arm so that I can tease my clit, getting closer and closer along with him. I come quickly, my body too aware, too ready, and every part of me clenches, drawing him in even tighter and wresting a long, low groan from him.
He comes after me, and when he does, he cries my name, then draws me close and holds me tight. "Kitten," he murmurs, his lips pressed to my neck. "Thank you."
"For what?" I ask, and his answer fills me to bursting: "For you."
Later, in the shower, he tenderly strokes my cheek. "You are amazing," he says.
"I'm glad you think so," I tease. "I feel amazing."
It's true. My body feels thoroughly fucked, deliciously used. And simply having Ryan beside me is pleasure enough. The fact that he's also naked adds on serious bonus points.
"Yeah," I repeat, and then kiss him. "I feel amazing."
When we get out of the shower, he is dressed and looking sinfully handsome in under fifteen minutes.
I take a bit longer to put together. Especially since today is my interview with Ellison Ward.
I spend an hour doing my makeup for the camera, then dressing, then checking myself in the mirror. I'm not naive--I know that Ward is the one who will get the screen time--but I also know this gig is potentially a break for me, and I don't want to fuck it up.
"You look stunning," Ryan says. "Professional, sexy, feminine and smart. All excellent qualities as far as I'm concerned."
"I appreciate the endorsement," I say, then accept his kiss, though I make him kiss me on the cheek so as to not muck up my lipstick.
The collar is on the counter where I left it before showering, and now I pick it up. I want to wear it, but it really doesn't go with my camera-ready outfit. I'm about to say that to Ryan--to tell him why I'm not wearing this gift that so moved me--when he takes it from me.
"What are you--" I begin, but he hushes me with a single press of a fingertip to my lips. Then he uses a small pocket knife to remove the lock from the loop on the collar. He puts the necklace back, then presses the lock into my hand. "You hold the key to my heart," he says as I melt just a little. "Keep it safe."
I nod, then put the lock gently in the pocket of my jacket. The weight is minimal, but I can feel it there, and it bolsters my confidence.
As we are leaving the suite, a bellman arrives and hands me a valet ticket. "Your Ferrari, Ms. Archer."
"Thank you," I say, but I'm looking at Ryan.
"My guys brought it in," he says. "The gas gauge is still off, but the tank's full. I wanted to ask before I sent her ahead to Texas, but just so you know, you'll be driving there with me."
I smile. "Perfect," I say. What I don't say is that it would be perfect, except for the part where we leave each other at the end.
I drop the valet ticket into my purse for the time being, then follow Ryan to the elevator.
He goes with me to the interview, which is being held in Ward's penthouse suite. We take the elevator to the top floor, then enter a suite that looks much like our own--only significantly more crowded.
My cameraman is already there, as are at least half a dozen people who must perform some function on the film, though I have no clue what. Another five or six people hover around a buffet that has been set up on the far side of the room, in front of the windows. A few more are huddled around a table spread with papers that I think are pages of a screenplay.
I do not see Ellison Ward.
A harried woman with pencils sticking out of her messy, blond topknot comes hurrying over. She glances at her wrist, says, "I'm Birgit, and we're already running late," even though I'm five minutes early, and hustles me to a small sofa. The cameraman leaves his post to come over and shake my hand.
"Leo," he says. "I'll shoot Ellison, and then we'll go back and reshoot you asking the questions. Don't wanna miss a chance of getting something prime on the celeb, so it works out best that way."
"Fine," I say. "Where is our celeb?"
Beside me, Birgit glances at her watch. "He better be on his way or we are going to be seriously off schedule." She pulls a walkie-talkie off her belt. "Dammit, Carson, I need Ellison."
"On our way," comes the crackly reply.
A few feet behind Leo, Ryan leans against a pillar watching me. I catch his eye and smile. At that particular moment, everything feels right. The job. The man. Life in general. I wish I could bottle it and keep it tight against my chest.
But I should know it's too good to last because when the double doors to the connecting room open, Ellison Ward and his entourage emerge. And there, standing right behind my subject, is Bryan Raine.
I must have reacted because Ryan takes one look at my face, then turns to look behind him. When he turns back to me, it's clear that he understands. His face is hard, and I am quite certain that if he could kill Raine and get away with it, Ryan wouldn't even hesitate.
Honestly, that feels kind of nice.
I have no idea why Raine is there--he wasn't on the cast list of the movie I received--and I'm really not up to speculating. It's bad enough that he's hovering nearby like some huge, dark spider, just waiting to trap me and suck me dry.
But my fears are foolish. He may have entered the room, but he doesn't stay, and when I look around for him, there is no sign.
I say a silent thank you to fate and the universe, then shake h
ands with Ellison Ward. He's charming and polite and very properly British. He puts me at ease immediately and the interview seems to sing. He is honest and forthright, and I'm able to work in both the fluff questions and also dig deeper.
By the time it wraps, I am feeling incredible about myself, about Ellison, and about the world in general.
I say good-bye to Ellison, then sit while Leo has me run through my questions again. When he's finished, Ryan approaches, and it's all I can do not to throw myself into his arms.
"You were wonderful," he says.
"She was," Leo agrees. "Got a way with the camera, too. You're gonna do good, Jamie. Hope we work together again."
"Thank you," I say, then invite him to join us for a drink in the hotel bar. He declines, and I'm secretly grateful. I would have been happy to have him along, but I'm happier to have Ryan all to myself.
"A drink," he says as we ride the elevator down. "I had planned to buy you a celebratory trip to Paris, but if you'd rather have this instead..."
I laugh, then pull him in close for another kiss. I'm still laughing when we get out of the elevator car, and my good mood lasts until we reach the middle of the lobby.
It fades there because Bryan Raine is coming right toward us.
"Jamie," he says. "Sorry I didn't get the chance to say hello upstairs. I've got a part in Johnson's next movie, and he wanted me to drive in and take a look at some pages. Maybe we can grab a drink? Catch up?"
I clutch Ryan's hand tight. "No," I say. "I really don't think so."
I continue walking, holding onto Ryan for support. "Asshole," I mutter as we reach the lobby bar. "Look at me," I say as we take a seat. "I was in a great mood, and he went and fucked it up."
"Hey," Ryan says, giving my hand a squeeze. "Forget about him."
I nod. "I know. You're right. Shit." I stand up again. "Order me something fabulous. I'm going to run to the ladies' room."
I take off that way, then spend the next five minutes staring at myself in the mirror and asking myself what the fuck is wrong with me.
When I come out, I'm calmer--at least until I see Bryan standing by Hunter, looking about as trapped as a gazelle being stalked by a lion. Hunter says something else, and then Bryan takes off like a shot, not even noticing me as he rushes past.