“You think I’m over it? Because I want to work and not play flirty goo-goo eyes with you? We agreed, you and I, that we would not bring it here. You seemed very relieved when I suggested it, if I remember correctly. You’re my dancer here. Not my girlfriend, not my—” He fell silent.
“Fuck buddy?” she supplied in a voice edged with sarcasm.
“Okay,” he said. “Just take some deep breaths.”
“I don’t want to take deep breaths! I don’t want you to tell me what to do.”
“I think you do want it. You’re just upset because you think I’m pushing you away.” He dropped his voice lower. “The truth is, I wish I could take you in my arms right now. I wish I could rip that fucking leotard off you and take you to the floor, and I can’t even put into words what I’d like to do to you then.”
She didn’t look at him, but she was suddenly taking those deep breaths he’d urged her to take.
“Believe me, Prosper, I find this just as awful as you do. But we will not bring this here again. We can’t work and keep our places in this company if the nature of our relationship was exposed. And yes, little one”—he leaned closer—“we do have a relationship, you and me. Fuck buddy doesn’t quite describe it.”
She didn’t speak for a long while.
He couldn’t read her. “Are you okay?”
She let out a sharp little breath. “Yes. I’m okay. I’m a little…” She fell silent.
“Angry? Confused? Scared?”
“Horny. Can I touch myself tonight?”
He blinked and chuckled. Not what he’d expected. “‘May I touch myself, Sir?’ would be a better way to ask.”
“May I touch myself, Sir?” Her barely concealed pique made his cock twitch.
“No. Absolutely not. You can only come when I make you come.”
“But—”
“But what?”
“That’s not fair to get me all worked up and then not let me relieve myself!”
“Life’s not fair, girl. Not for subs like you. Here. Give me your cell phone.”
She dug in her bag and got it out. He programmed his number into it, then handed it back to her.
“If it gets too hard not to touch yourself, you’re welcome to call me and beg. Not that it will do any good.”
Prosper tsk-tsked in annoyance, clearly not finding the situation as amusing as he did. She dug her toes into the floor. “It’s just hard not to come when I feel so… so…”
“Horny?”
“Yes. I mean, you are going to have sex with me?”
“You bet your fucking feathers I am, Firebird. Soon.”
“Well, um… when?” She looked ridiculously adorable begging him for sex.
“How about tonight?”
“I have to work tonight.”
“Oh yes, your second job. Where?”
“At Halo. That bar.”
He hated the idea of her working in a skin bar like Halo, not that it was any of his business.
“I’m not working tomorrow night,” she said.
Tomorrow night. He was going to fuck her to pieces.
“Fine,” he said. “Tomorrow night after the show. At my place.”
Chapter Seven
Wednesday night she climbed into a cab wearing the clothing he’d instructed her to. Tight black dress with a gartered corset and stockings under it, no panties. Yeah. She was a slut.
But she was an excited slut. She shifted on the backseat of the cab, already growing damp between her legs. It wasn’t just the way she was dressed. It was the knowledge that she was going to Jackson’s home to have sex. They’d made a date. For sex. Arrangements to fuck. It was so hedonistic. He wanted to penetrate her, touch her in all her most private places. And she desperately wanted to be touched by him.
She pressed her legs together, watching the people out on the street. She wanted to roll down the window and shout out her happiness. Finally everything was coming together for her. She had her part-time job nailed down, and just that morning she’d finally located a studio apartment she could rent week to week for a reasonable rate. And now she was on the way to Jackson’s house for sex. He was going to put his hands on her, press his hard, powerful body against hers. He was going to penetrate her with the cock she’d seen straining in his pants, the cock she couldn’t stop obsessing about. Oh my God. She arrived five minutes early and sat in the cab a full minute or two just gathering her nerves.
“Everything all right?” the driver asked.
“Everything’s great.” She handed him the money Jackson had given her for the short cab ride. “Take a cab. I don’t want you walking without panties after dark.” It was a generous tip, and the driver thanked her, then got out to open her door. As she stepped out in her tight dress, cold air blew up to caress her naked flesh. She shivered and ran up the stairs, then pressed the buzzer for Jackson’s townhome.
The door swung open, and there he was. He pulled her inside, no words, no smile. He pushed her back against the door as it closed and locked the dead bolt with a sharp click. Her indrawn breath sounded loud in the silence of his home. The lights were low, and his face as she looked up at it was shadowed. Without preamble, he stuck his hand up her dress. He felt the top of her stockings, the garters. His hand cupped her naked sex, and then he bent down and kissed her forehead.
“Good girl.”
She was so hot, so wet. His fingers grazed her, felt the slick nectar there. He wanted to thrust his fingers up inside her until she went up on her toes, but he wasn’t going to maul her thirty seconds in. No. He wouldn’t maul her yet.
His face was inches from hers. She looked up at him with a wide-eyed gaze that made his erection throb. He leaned against her so she could feel it against her belly. She quivered like a spooked sparrow trapped between him and the wall. He was her cage. He held her captured and still; she didn’t make the smallest attempt to get away. But what would he do with her now? The possibilities were endless. There were so many things he wanted to do to her that he didn’t know where to begin.
So he held her trapped there while he grasped for control. He could feel the heat radiating from her. He wanted to push her to the floor, yank her dress up. Force himself inside, ride her hard. What would she do? How would she react? Would she struggle and pull away? Would she spread her thighs wider, let him sink in where he so desperately wanted to be? What kind of sounds would she make? Squeaks of fear, guttural moans? Urgent gasps?
“I want to fuck you, Prosper.”
Okay. Not exactly a love sonnet. She swallowed, took a shuddery breath.
“I want to fuck you,” he repeated. “I need sex from you.”
“Okay. I just better warn you, though, I’m not that good at sex.”
“Aren’t you?” The very idea was ridiculous, but she seemed to believe it. “Are you at least good at sucking cock?”
His words brought an instant flush to her cheeks.
“I’m… I’m terrible at it… Sir.”
A moment of utter silence. Then he laughed.
“Honest to a fault. Your name should be Honesty, not Prosperity. So you’re not good in bed at all?”
Prosper bit her lip, then shook her head.
“One more head shake and I’ll spank your ass until it’s black-and-blue.” He took her chin hard in his hand, tilting her face up. “Your skill in bed aside, do you want me? Are you hot for me? Are you wet?”
She nodded, then remembered and spit out a “yes, Sir,” but he was already propelling her toward the couch. Her gasp was muffled by the cushions as he bent her over the arm. He yanked up the skirt of her dress, then tore off his belt and doubled it over in his hand. She squealed and jerked as the first blow landed.