Chapter Seventeen: New Eyes

 

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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: NEW EYES

Max sighed, stepped out of her car, and slammed the door shut. She turned to glare at Donovan’s. Between her job and making sure that Hallie’s shop would be ready to open on time, she was beyond stressed and was more than ready to tear someone apart.

And she had a target in mind.

It had been two weeks. Two weeks of phone tag. Two weeks of unanswered emails. Two weeks of no answers. And Max was tired of it.

She’d agreed to work on this with him because she thought that she’d be working with him on this. But, no, every time she’d called him, he’d been resolutely stoic. All he ever said was that he was working on it. God only knew what that meant. He never went into detail, got evasive if she asked. Just kept promising that he would fix things.

He’d assured her, in almost every voicemail and email, that Wayne had made no move to release the photos. As if that were a comfort. There was still—would always be—the possibility of it. Wayne could send them to her family. To her boss. She’d be living with this over her head all the time. And she just couldn’t live like that.

So she’d come to Donovan’s tonight. Because she hated—fucking hated—that the terse, tailored, irritating attorney could make her so angry by avoiding her when she never wanted to see him again. That he could make her wish he’d talk to her—write, call, see, whatever—when she was still so hurt.

So, yes, she’d come for answers. She’d come for him.

With large, dark, tortoise-shell, cat-eye sunglasses and a trench coat that made her feel like something out of a bad noir film, she stepped into the club, flashing her bracelet, not caring if it sent up flags like it had last time. Kind of hoping it would.

Slipping off her coat and glasses to reveal the black halter dress beneath, she headed for the bar and ordered a steadying drink before asking where she could find him. The bartender simply handed her a drink and shrugged.

“He’s probably in the playspace,” a familiar voice said behind her.

“Play,” Max said skeptically as she turned, “space?” Was that what they called the back area? Playspace? It sounded so innocent, childlike, when she knew it was anything but.

Beside her, drink in hand, was the same tall, leather-clad behemoth from before.

Max swallowed hard. Took a sip of her drink. “Rand, is it?” she asked, remembering Kat mentioning him.

“Max Wells,” he acknowledged with a smile and a nod. “You’re looking for the big man? Like I said, he’s probably in the playspace in back.” Pushing back from the counter, he offered, “I could take you back there, if you like.” His smile widened to show teeth, “If you promise not to hit me. Again.”

Max blushed, embarrassed by her behavior. Which, of course, didn’t stop her from straightening her spine, lifting her chin imperiously, and blustering, “You deserved it and you know it. So that’s really more up to you than me.”

For a moment, they just stared at each other, until his hard face cracked into a genuine grin, and he laughed loudly. “Fair enough,” he said. “Fair enough. Come on, I’ll take you back.”

So she followed him, allowing him to lead her with one hand on her back, just between her shoulder blades. So long as that was the only place he put his hands.

He led her through the crowd and to a door in the back. They entered into a dimly lit hallway. The walls were plain, gray, and unadorned, doors scattered along its length.

It was odd. She’d seen this area from above, seen it spread out labyrinthine before her. It’d seemed so strange, almost mythical then, a sumptuous feast of sexual delights. But here, on the ground, it just seemed so...ordinary.

As they passed rooms, she could hear pleasure-filled moans and energetic grunts. Pleas and orders given in harmonic rhythms, one layered over another. Whispered words muffled by the walls and shouts that rang through the cavernous hall.

“There,” he said, bringing her back to the room that had started it all.

Max walked slowly up to the mirrored room, seeing him, tall and imposing as he tied his hair back, the blond strands coming loose of their band. His sea deep eyes were focused on a petite, Hispanic woman cuffed naked to a tall post in the middle of the room, silver metal gleaming against her tanned skin.

He was still fully dressed; his own sun-kissed skin was hidden beneath a crisp white dress shirt, unbuttoned at the throat, and creased dress slacks, wrinkled from a long day and, obviously, whatever he was up to.

“Looks like he’s with Reena tonight,” she heard Rand comment behind her. “She’s fun. She likes it when you whisper dirty talk in her ear.” He leaned in and murmured into Max’s hair, his breath a hot tickle against her flesh, “Makes her cream all over herself. How about you?”

Max stiffened, but didn’t comment. She wouldn’t rise to this man’s bait. “Has he been with her often?” Were they involved? Had he cheated on Max with other women? Or was he cheating on other women with Max?

“They play occasionally,” Rand answered. “But then he only plays occasionally.”

“What does that mean?” she wondered.

Rand smirked. “All the women know that he doesn’t play for keeps.” He touched her shoulders, holding them in his massive hands. “Don’t they?”

Max sniffed and shrugged out of his grasp. “How many partners does he have?”

“I don’t exactly keep a tally,” the bald man said. “But all men like variety. He just seems to like it more than most. Let’s see here, I know there’s Pip and, of course, little Reena there. There’s Sara and Lynn and Lisa and—”

She waved her hand. “Forget I asked.”

“Don’t think he sleeps with them all,” Rand commented idly. “Might, but I doubt it.” With a shrug, he said, “Man has to sleep, as in actual rest, at some point, am I right?”

Max twisted her lips into a smile. “Thank you so much, Rand, for all your help.”

He chuckled. Stepping back with his hands held out, he said, “Here’s your hat; what’s your hurry? Right?”

“Like I said,” she repeated, “thank you.” She turned her back on him, dismissing him completely, and took a deep breath.

The brisk businessman was in the process of blindfolding the woman, whispering in her ear and making her shiver. Max wondered what he was saying.

“You’re a pleasure to look at.”

Her teeth set on edge as she saw him back away from the woman.

“I like looking at you.”

Her breath caught as he methodically unbuttoned the constraining material so the fabric framed his lean, golden form.

Max swallowed hard.

“I want to touch you.”

He flipped open the briefcase laid on a table off to the side and she leaned in close, inspecting the perfectly packed implements inside the professional business case.

“Tell me you want me to.”

He grabbed a long-handled piece with long leathered lengths that spilled from the wooden handle like a waterfall. A flogger, she thought, recognition working like a non-native translating a foreign tongue.

She held her breath as he gripped the handle of his tool purposefully with one hand, the other one sliding soothingly along the now gathered tails. Holding it at full-length, he paced around the other woman thoughtfully, a patient predator. Studying his prey, he stalked her, his feet silent as he moved.

Max understood how Reena must feel as the bound woman turned her head one way and then the other, her ears ready and alert as they tried to place him. But, Max well knew, he was a ghost when he wanted to be. A shadowed phantom following you in the dark. Max intimately knew the heightened panic mixed with overwhelming anticipation filling the woman now. She knew the confusing, heady rush of fear and lust as they fought to overtake the other.

He suddenly stopped. Behind her, his arm stretched back to aim, like an archer. The grace of his movement awed Max as he let the tails go, letting them flow in a stream from his grasp. The leather struck, blooming as it hit, leaving a cluster of harsh red lines striping her skin. The woman, back bowed and head tossed back, made no sound beyond an almost inaudible gasp of air. She panted for a moment as he leaned in. His hand smoothed over the marks he left, as he whispered again in her ear.

Max watched, curious, as the woman straightened again, planting her feet and gritting her teeth, her jaw set defiantly. Wordlessly daring him. Taunting him. Max grudgingly grinned at that.

His lips curled too as he pulled the long, leather lengths back again, this time taking a step back. Fascinated, she watched the tails fly once more, this time exploding in midair before raining down her back with vicious snaps.

The woman jolted, her whole body tensing from the stinging blow. Again, she stood still as stone. A statue frozen as a chemical cocktail of endorphins and adrenaline and God only knew what ran through her, her rapidly heaving chest and the slightest shiver of her body the only signs of movement.

He gave her a moment, talking softly to her as he moved around her. Max caught the shudder that shook the woman’s shoulders a second before she straightened again—resolutely unflinching.

A flurry of fluid motion struck as he wielded the flogger against her again and again without stopping now. Max stared, horrified yet intrigued, as Reena’s small form jerked and writhed under the flogger’s unforgiving attention and welts began to rise, red and angry, on the woman’s skin.

Max shook her head. Why would anyone do this?

“Want to give it a go?” Rand’s husky voice asked from behind her again.

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The Deviant Nerd - Where Have All The Kinksters Gone

Where Have All The Kinksters Gone

The Deviant Nerd

Brought to you by The Roles We Play, a Donovan's Door collection that explores roles, identity, and pleasure.

Question: Hey Pip! 

I’m a single, kinky girl and I’ve tried looking for someone on all the internet dating sites, even the kinky ones, but can’t seem to find a guy who’s into what I’m into. All the guys who message me are inexperienced or not as into kink as I am. Some of them seem like nice guys and all, but I can’t be in another vanilla relationship; they just don’t work for me. What do I do?

 – Searching for Sadistic Soulmate

———   

Pip: Hey Searching,

I feel your pain. The search for that perfect playmate partner is hard. Even in kinkland, the search for Prince(ss) Charming is daunting and, all too often, discouraging. 

My best advice is to stop looking.

For perfection, anyway. It doesn’t exist. No one is perfect. No one is even perfect for any other person. The idea that any of us can find a perfect person who fits us in every conceivable way is as lovely—and as likely—as a fairytale.

And, for kinky folks, who are a sexual minority, it’s even harder. We’re a very small percentage of the population, those of us who actually live the lifestyle and identify ourselves as kinksters. Those of us who join communities—particularly the ones that exist in real life as well as online—and devote large chunks of our lives, time, and love to this. Those of us who don’t just keep it in the fuzzy fantasies of our minds or in a box under the bed to pull out when the sex gets stale.

There aren’t enough of us to ONLY date within the community, not without going the poly route (which many do). 

The fortunate things is, just because we’re kinky doesn’t mean we can’t date vanilla people. Often, we have little choice but to. Often we round our kinky sides down and/or find ways to round our vanilla partners’ kinky sides up to make, if not a perfect relationship, a functional one. You’re never guaranteed that you’ll find someone who is into everything you’re into and nothing else. Chances are, with anyone you meet—kinky or vanilla—you’ll share some kinks and interests and differ on others. And that’s okay. So long as you’re getting more than you’re missing, isn’t that worth it?

So don’t discount the nice guys who message you. Float your kinks out there for them, see if any of them are interested. We were all vanilla once—even those of us who had kinky inclinations from a young age usually dated vanilla in the beginning—and we all have to start somewhere.  And who knows? Maybe one of those nice guys could be your next knight in studded leather. 

 – Pip, Your Resident Deviant Nerd

* If you have a sex, kink, love, or life question for The Deviant Nerd, email Pip at PipJones.DeviantNerd@gmail.com. 

And read more about Pip’s story in Brought to You By.

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Chapter Sixteen: Perspective

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CHAPTER SIXTEEN: PERSPECTIVE

Max yawned before waving to the last of the volunteers as they left the shop. They’d gotten so much done, she couldn’t believe it. She was so proud of everyone.

“I can’t even begin to thank you.” Hallie sat down on the empty window display ledge with her. “Everything you’ve done...”

Max’s own lips began to wobble when she saw the beautiful blond begin to tear up. She let the woman hug her tight. “I should get home,” she said. “We’ve got more work ahead of us tomorrow.”

Hallie sighed and gave her another sympathetic squeeze. “Actually, I was told to keep you here for a bit.”

Max rolled her eyes. She could guess by whom. “I’m tired, Hallie.” She just wanted to go home. Wanted nothing more than to go the hell to sleep.

“I owe him a lot too,” Hallie said with a pretty little pout. “And I did promise him that I’d make sure you stayed until he got back.”

She groaned internally. Wasn’t that just like him? Putting Hallie in the middle. Using the sweet-natured woman’s guilt and sense of obligation against her.

Knowing that it would make Max feel guilty.

He was such a manipulative bastard.

Fine. He wanted her to wait. Fine, just fine. It gave her the chance to tell him what a jerk he was to his face.

Hallie suddenly jumped with a gasp at a sharp knock on the door. She looked out the window and grinned, waving at the woman standing on the other side of the glass, then squealed and rushed to let her in.

Max watched Hallie embrace a tall, auburn-haired woman, chic and sleek with an almost severe A-line bob that loved her strong, square profile, and a trim, toned form covered in tight black leather. “You’re here!”

“Hey, if I couldn’t make it in time to help out, the least I could do is take care of you afterward.” The woman smiled and wrapped her arms around Hallie’s waist. Spotting Max, she turned questioningly and said, “Hello?”

Max lifted her hand. “Hey.”

“Oh,” Hallie said, flustered. “Where are my manners? Rachel, this is Max Wells, the woman I’ve been telling you about.” She dragged the woman closer. “Max, this is Rachel. She owns the café across the street. She also DJs at Donovan’s sometimes.”

Max stood and held out her hand. It was quite obvious that the woman was a lot more to Hallie than a good mixer. “Nice to meet you.”

“Great to meet you,” Rachel said. “I’ve heard about you all week. Thank you again for all that you’re doing. You’re really putting it all out there for Hallie here.”

“My pleasure.”

Hallie grabbed Rachel’s hand shyly and looked at Max. “Do you mind if we step into the back for a bit?” she asked hopefully.

Max smiled and shook her head. “Of course not. Go ahead. Please.”

“Thanks.” Hallie stopped mid-step on their way to her back office. Turning back, she paused. “You won’t leave though, right?”

“I’ll wait right here,” Max assured her with a smile, charmed by the adorable woman as she flounced away with her date, “I promise.”

“Great!” She practically jumped with excitement and relief. “Great. We’ll,” she said as Rachel grabbed her by the waist, pulling her into the overcrowded back office that was being used for storage, “be right back.”

Max chuckled and sat back down. “Don’t rush on my account.”

The two disappeared behind the various mismatched furniture shoved into the space, blissful couple sounds muffled by the walls. Max was happy for her. Hallie deserved a little fun after all she’d been through. And Rachel certainly looked like Hallie’s brand of fun.

Max’s eyes widened when the couple’s reflection appeared in the large dressing room mirror. It was wedged at an odd angle that afforded a perfect view of the couple. Limbs entangled. Lips locked in a hard, hungry kiss. Max watched Rachel lift Hallie up, seating her on an office desk while wrapping her legs around her waist.

Max’s mouth dropped open. She should leave—forget her promise. She knew that. She should at the very least wait outside the store.

But she couldn’t move. Couldn’t leave. Couldn’t even look away.

Rachel’s hand slid up Hallie’s soft, lush thigh, grabbing the sweet flesh and pushed her legs further apart. Her lips moved down Hallie’s neck as the shop-owner’s blond head rolled back, her perfectly painted mouth open on a moan of pleasure. With furious hands, Rachel tugged at the wide scoop neck, shoving it out of the way, revealing Hallie’s satin and lace bra. Hallie bit her lower lip and writhed while Rachel licked and kissed and nipped at the tops of her ample breasts.

“What are you looking at?”

Max jumped, her hand stifling the shriek that escaped her throat. She whipped around to find the sharp blade of the attorney’s nose a breath away from her cheek. She stiffened when he sat behind her and threw one leg around her, surrounding her with his imposing presence. “It looks as if Hallie’s enjoying herself. Good for her.”

“What are you doing?” she asked, about to stand up to face him.

But he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight while she struggled. It was only a half-hearted fight, if she was honest. It felt ridiculous sitting in a half-finished room in the lap of a man who felt like a stranger while she watched a similarly strange woman love someone who was quickly becoming a friend.

Max was really just too tired for all of this.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked. “Watching Rachel and Hallie?”

She turned her head to the side, hating that she could feel her face flush. God, it would have to be him who caught her spying into the office like some peeping tom.

“You liked watching Kat and Peter,” he whispered in her ear. “I know you did. Tell me, is watching Hallie and Rachel just as exciting?”

Max’s thighs clenched together reflexively.

“I think it is,” he said knowingly. “I think it makes you just as hot.” His breath was warm, even against the heated blush burning within her. “It’s okay,” he told her. “You can tell me. Tell me how wet you are.” His arms tightened around her.

Max pursed her lips together.

“You could tell me, Max, or I could find out on my own.’’ His hand slid down to caress her hip, his fingers dipping beneath the hem of her jeans.

“What do you want from me?” She grabbed his hand and pulled it from her pants, but not quite away from herself. “Why are you doing this?”

“I want you to tell me if you’re aroused right now.” He let his fingers caress her stomach lightly, teasingly.

“Why?” Her voice sounded breathy as her insides clenched in a sinful coil. “What difference would it make? Even if it was a turn-on,” and she wasn’t saying it was, “that doesn’t make it right. We should leave. It’s an invasion of their privacy.” It made her no better than Wayne.

He held her a bit tighter. “I happen to know that, when they come to Donovan’s, Hallie and Rachel like a little exhibitionism. And considering that they already know we’re here and don’t seem to be shy about what they’re doing…”

Max snorted. Even with her gaze averted, she could hear Hallie moan and pant. “Even so.” She shook her head. “It’s one thing for them to know that we can hear them; it’s another to watch them without them knowing.”

“That’s fair.” The man shrugged. “Well, let’s go in and ask if we can watch.”

Max turned to stare at him in shock. “What?” Was he insane? “We can’t do that.”

“Why not?” He moved to slide his hands up and down her waist, stopping just short of her heavy breasts and her weighty hips. “They know we’re here; we know what they’re up to. Sounds like a good time to me.”

“I’m not going to interrupt them,” she said, shaking her head. “You do what you want.”

“You don’t like watching them?”

Max’s jaw tensed, not willing to say anything.

She could feel his smile against her cheek. “If they knew and were into it, you’d want to watch, wouldn’t you?”

She shook her head again. “Why is this so important to you?”

“I want you to admit that you’re turned on right now.” He licked his way along the curve of her ear. “By this. By watching this. As wrong as you find it—spying, peeping, voyeurism—it arouses you, doesn’t it?” Her thighs quivered when his slick, silky tongue swept along the sensitive skin. “Just tell me.” Her eyes shut and her mouth opened on a tiny moan while his hands gripped her forearms and massaged her flesh with firm, sure strokes.

Max shook her head. She couldn’t answer him. Couldn’t admit something like that to him. It felt too much like giving him power over her, giving him that information. And, Lord knew, he had enough sway over her. No. She shook her head again.

He sighed, his breath hot against her skin. “Even if you think it’s wrong—have been told it’s wrong—so long as what’s happening is between consenting adults, so long as it brings pleasure, in any of its many forms, to all parties, what does it matter?”

Max stiffened suddenly.

Her jaw tightened and she turned slowly to face him. He had a disgustingly innocent look on his face. She shook her head and stood, shoving his hands away from her. With a huff, she left the store.

“Max!” She could hear him call after her. “Max, wait!”

She couldn’t believe him. Couldn’t believe his fucking nerve!

“Max.” He grabbed her arm. She tugged her elbow back, but he wasn’t letting go. “Why did you run?”

Run? Run? She shoved him back, pushing with both hands. Hard. She stepped forward when he stumbled back. “This,” she pointed out angrily, “isn’t running.” She shoved him again. “This,” she yelled, “is goodbye. I’m done with you. Leave me alone.”

“Not until you tell me why.”

“Why?” She wanted to scream. “Why? Because I am so tired of your shit.” She walked away from him only to quickly pace back. “All your talk about wanting to open my eyes. Wanting me to understand. Wanting to expand my goddamned horizons. Like I’m some kind of charity case. Like you’re some sexual saint upon some altruistic altar. It’s all bullshit!” She pointed an accusing finger at him. “This isn’t about me. That,” she gestured back at Hallie’s store, “wasn’t about me. All that ‘even if you think it’s wrong—have been told it’s wrong—so long as it brings you pleasure’ crap wasn’t about me. It was about you.”

“That’s not tru—”

She cut him off. “Tell me,” she shot back at him, “please, tell me that this has nothing to do with the fact that you got caught with Pip this morning. That this has nothing to do with you trying to convince me that you weren’t cheating on her. On me.”

———

His mouth snapped shut as his mind raced. A thousand perfectly sound arguments raged and rattled about his head, confusing him because, while they all sounded completely logical, none of them rang particularly true.

Max shook her head, a look of disgust on her face. “You lied to me.”

“I never lied,” he pointed out, the argument feeling weak even to him. “We never said we were exclusive,” he repeated, the refrain sounding empty even to him.

“The default assumption when you begin a relationship with a person is that you’re not already in a relationship with another,” she argued. “The default assumption is that you’re not a philandering piece of shit until proven guilty.” Though several inches shorter than him, she shoved herself in his face challengingly. “You lied. So you could get everything you want without giving anything back.”

He frowned. She was right. That was why he always told the women he was with. Upfront. Outright. So there was never a misunderstanding.

But he hadn’t with her.

And while he’d had lots of reasons. Lots of excuses. He had no defense.

“So please,” she said, her lip curling in a sneer, “do tell me how you, the big, strong, smart, in-control Dom, are doing me, the tiny, innocent, too-stupid-to-live newb, such a huge favor.”

He snapped his mouth shut, his teeth clanking loudly as he did so. His jaw clenched and his face set into a scowl. What the hell could he say to that?

She was blowing things out of proportion. Twisting his intentions. Manipulating his words. He simply wanted to show her things. Show her his world. What her world could be like, if she would just...

What?

Follow his lead? Comply with his every demand? Bend to his will?

Fuck.

Who wouldn’t jump at the chance of that?

He wanted to kick himself.

“So, yes, this is goodbye, sir.” She scoffed and walked away.

Shit!

He’d done this all wrong, hadn’t he? He frowned, wondering how the hell everything had gotten so turned around. He internally writhed with failure and guilt while he watched her storm away, her body practically vibrating with rage.

“What about your file?” he called out after her, not exactly sure where he was going with this. He just wanted her to stop. Had to get her to come back.

“Shove it up your ass, for all I care,” she yelled back without even turning around. “In case you’ve forgotten, I have bigger problems thanks to you.”

The pictures.

Damn.

All wrong.

“I can help you get them back,” he yelled. “I can help you destroy them, if that’s what you want.” She kept walking. “I already have a private detective on him. I have computer tracking systems. I can catch the bastard. I can fix this, Max,” he swore. He would fix this.

She stopped at the corner of the street, pausing as if waiting to cross the empty traffic. She sighed, her shoulders slumping a bit before she turned around.

Storming just as lividly, just as determinedly, she charged up to him. “Fine,” she agreed, still too angry to look at him. “You did this. You made a complete muck-up of my life and you should help fix it.”

Her jutting jaw shifted into a wobbly pout for a second before stiffening again into a scowl. “Just tell me something. If it had been someone else—if it had been Hallie or Kat or Pip—if someone had done what you’ve done to them, lied to them, like you did to me, what would you have done?”

He’d have hunted them down. He’d have made them apologize. And then he’d have made them pay. Because no one treated a friend of his like that. They deserved better than that. And an asshole who treated his friends like that deserved every evil he could devise.

Damn.

He didn’t even want to know what he deserved.

“I’m sorry, Max,” he said softly, sincerely. He’d rarely said that in his life, yet he found himself continually saying it to her. Why? What was it about this woman that seemed to bring out the worst in him? Made him act in such a way?

Or did he always act so carelessly, lie, cheat, and deceive, without thought beyond his own desires, goals and intentions, until she made him face his own self-made demons?

He shook his head, trying to make sense of the distressing thoughts.

“Forget about it,” she said, asking for the impossible with a dismissive shake of her head. “I just want this done.”

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Chapter Fifteen: Snooping

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CHAPTER FIFTEEN: SNOOPING

It was driving him crazy.

Max was driving him crazy.

He held his phone close to his ear and sighed, listening to the sound of her voice while she discussed the various plans she’d made on Hallie’s behalf. He knew he ought to be paying attention—Max wasn’t one for idle conversation. When she spoke, it was wise to listen.

But, whenever he saw her or heard her speak or simply let his mind drift to her, the feel of her hand on his cock surfaced in his mind. The sight of her naked, her body stripped bare before him. The sound of her moans as he made her come. The taste of her. Her scent.

Fuck!

He shifted awkwardly in his office chair, hard as a goddamned stone.

But she was all business. Had been for days. Ever since Hallie’s show, it was as if a fire had been lit under her. She was so dedicated to helping the cause.

“I’ve got a list of contractors willing to do some work on Hallie’s shop at a discounted rate,” he heard her say on the phone, her voice cool and confident. “But my top choice—while not the most cost-effective—is a place called Building Dream Houses.”

He imagined her seated in her own cushioned office chair. One hand clicking intensely through the files and lists and figures and estimates on her computer while the other held her phone—his voice—so close to her ear. All that passion, all that fire inside of her given direction and focus.

“It’s run by a pair of cousins just striking it out in their own business because ownership of the family construction business skipped them and was left to the men in the family.”

He wondered what she was wearing. Probably one of her suits. Boxy, shapeless things. Max had curves. Amazing curves. But she hid them.

But not from him.

“It makes for a better story; wronged businesswomen helping another wronged businesswoman.”

What was she wearing underneath, he wondered. Blue lace? Black silk? Soft, sweet cotton? Nothing at all.

“Both sides coming out the better for it.”

He bit back a groan. It was driving him crazy. Acting on reflex, he unzipped his pants and began to stroke himself, holding on to the image of her naked and wanting, needing some kind of release.

“I love it, don’t you?”

He made an assenting hum through thin, pursed lips and gripped himself harder, satisfaction so far away.

He had to do something about this. He couldn’t continue like this. Couldn’t be expected to function.

He ended the conversation with Max, promising to contact her again later about the various charity campaigns they had in the works.

He stabbed at the office intercom. “Elin,” he barked, “I need to speak to Pip Jones. Now.”

He needed something. He was going out of his mind. Max was just so prim and professional—the star of the class with all the right answers. So capable and precise. While he was going crazy with lust.

Whenever he was near her—hell, even when he wasn’t—all he wanted to do was bend her over and take her. Fuck her. Tease and torture and watch her writhe. Watch her try to maintain her corporate cool then.

He should.

He would.

But not like this. Not crazed and uncontrolled like this.

He needed something. Something to take the edge off before he started his own campaign. And Pip—savvy, sassy, brilliant, beautiful Pip—could be exactly the right answer.

———

Max stood in the middle of the organized chaos filling the street in front of Bits ‘n’ Pieces, satisfied at the sight of the crowd of volunteers gathered with waiting brooms and tools in hand for further instructions.

They’d already cleared the area of all the furniture and swept up most of the broken glass and water-damaged muck so the real work could begin.

She turned to Elin, who looked so different in her street clothes. Max had thought that the proficient admin would look more relaxed ponytailed in dark denim jeans and a white t-shirt but, instead, the casual dress only highlighted her primly professional persona. The keen and clever Korean woman stood spine-straight and always at the ready; the perfect admin. “The contractors will be here in fifteen,” the woman told Max while making necessary notes on her phone.

Good. Max looked about. “What we really need are people to move the salvageable racks and mirrors and things from the street and into the trucks.” As Hallie couldn’t afford her own storage site until the renovations were done, Donovan’s had generously offered her space in their basement.

Ever-efficient, Elin nodded, and armed with her orders, she decisively bustled away, ready to direct and organize.

“Thank you so much.” Hallie came up to her, looking out at the crowd. “How did you ever get so many people on such short notice?”

Max shrugged. “A couple of internet ads, an article in a local online magazine, and a couple of calls to local radio stations and podcasts.” It really wasn’t hard. The minute she finished telling people Hallie’s story, they were already clamoring to help.

Max knew that the well-connected counselor had also made more calls, reaching out to his various communities who were only too happy to reach back. She’d been working with him all week, exchanging contacts and trading favors. Putting her magazine connections in touch with his advertisers. Linking her ads on his sites. And, of course, his assistant, Elin, had offered her services, keeping in touch with the contractors Max had hired with Hallie’s donations.

This never would have happened without him.

But, no matter where she looked, she couldn’t find him.

She knew he was here; she’d seen him around. The only one who’d shown up to a work site in a designer suit.

Max shook her head with a smile and waved to Hallie to tell her that she was going to head inside, thinking that perhaps he’d gone in for some reason. Max entered the store only to stop in the doorway.

There was a man she didn’t recognize hovering over the cashier counter.

“Can I help you?” she asked, suspicion creeping up on her. “Does Hallie know you’re here?”

The man jumped in shock, leaping away from the counter and turning toward her. Only to stop and stare at her. “Miss Wells.”

She cocked her head and studied him. Tallish and on the thin side, the man looked proper and slick. And though his dark hair was silvering and there were wrinkles around his mouth and eyes, he was still handsome and well-groomed. He looked familiar, but she just couldn’t place him. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“I know you.” He stepped forward. His dark gaze sized her up from head to toe, assessing her. “I know you.”

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Not that I expect a woman like you to understand,” he said while he walked around the space, flicking the few remaining items of clothing that were salvageable, “but this is a good neighborhood and we want to keep it that way.” He wiped his hands on his pants. “And this store is an eyesore. A blight on our community. It shouldn’t be here.” He turned to glare into her eyes. “And neither should you.”

“Mr. Wayne,” she presumed. He tipped his head slightly in acknowledgment. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her fists forming. “You’re the one who shouldn’t be here. You’re trespassing and you need to leave now before I call the cops.”

“I was hoping to talk to Miss Hannings,” he said.

“She’s busy,” Max snapped. “As you can see,” she said, gesturing to the vandalized room, “we have a lot of work to do.”

“Then perhaps her pit bull of a lawyer.”

Max smiled at that apt enough description. “He’s not here,” she said. “I don’t know where he is.”

“Probably off with one of his women,” Wayne mused, “am I right?” He grinned at Max’s balked expression. “He is,” the man conceded, “rather insatiable.”

Max’s foot slid back into a fighting stance and she put her hands on her hips. “Was there a message I could give him?”

“Yes.” Wayne smirked. “Tell him that, if he wants to play this game, we will, but even men who think they have nothing to lose,” he said, staring pointedly at her, “have weaknesses. Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Wells?”

Max stepped back, her gaze narrowing, and stared into his dark eyes. There was a knowledge in them, an intimate knowing, as if he knew her. Really knew her. Not just knew of her, but knew the whole of her, even the parts she hid.

She gasped.

“The pictures,” she breathed, shock almost blinding her to the deeply controlled satisfaction plain on his face. “You sent them.”

“Whatever are you talking about?” His voice crackled with false innocence.

Max pursed her lips and frowned at him. “How did you get them?”

“Don’t you know, Miss Wells?” He sneered, doing his best movie villain impression. Badly. “There’s always someone watching.” His smile widened and she felt her entire body stiffen. “Tell Miss Hannings that I will see her soon,” he tossed over his shoulder nonchalantly before he moved to leave.

Gritting her teeth and balling her fists, Max watched him go, the sound of the door chimes mocking her as he stepped out of Hallie’s shop. The instant he left, she turned on her heel and checked the cashier’s counter, drawers, and cabinets for tampering, grateful to find them all locked up tight.

“Max?”

Max’s head popped up. Speak of the devil. The lawyer was there in the doorway. His arm curled comfortably around the slim waist of a tall, pretty woman. Max’s eyes narrowed. Not just any woman. The statuesque model from Hallie’s show. The beautiful black woman who’d worn the white slip. Her white slip.

Max’s lips thinned at the intimate image; the beautiful couple framed perfectly by the shop’s door.

She turned away.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, the model still snug against his side.

“What am I doing here?” she asked. “I was chasing Wayne out from around the cashier’s counter.” Glaring at him and his date, she countered, “What are you doing here?” With some other woman? A repeat performance? Was this what he did with all his women? Was she just one more in a long line of faceless, gullible females?

“Max Wells,” he said, introductions heavy in his voice, “this is Pip Jones, host of The Deviant Nerd, the podcast that interviewed Hallie two days ago.” With a hand to the small of the woman’s back, he led her forward. “Pip, this is Max Wells.”

“Pleasure to meet you in person,” Pip said, her sultry voice smooth and seductive. “I can’t believe all the work you’ve done. It’s quite remarkable.”

“Thank you,” Max replied primly, at an unusual loss for words.

“Hallie said I could take a look around.” Pip peeked around the space. “She showed me the pictures, but I wanted to see it for myself. So I could tell my listeners about it in my next show. Maybe take some photos of my own and post them on my blog.” She turned back to him, leaned in, and kissed him on the lips. A smacking kiss, not lingering by any means, but not exactly brief. It had an air of intimacy that set Max’s teeth on edge.

Max whipped away, fighting back a wave of bitter anger.

What did she care?

So he was probably fucking the model.

Who could blame him?

She was gorgeous and available, and obviously they were close.

Hell, why wouldn’t he sleep with her?

Max’s breath caught and her heart pounded, her chest feeling tight.

She was being ridiculous.

Sex was just sex.

A physical exertion.

A release.

He was an adult and unattached. He’d never made her promises or led her to believe.

That she was special.

That he wasn’t interested in anyone else.

“I left Pip at the bar,” he’d said that first night they met.

He’d been with that woman that night. From the beginning. Before even that, undoubtedly.

“I’ll just show myself around,” she distantly heard Pip say. “Don’t mind me.”

Max fussed about the counter area with a lot of motion and intent, but no real clear purpose, searching for something. But what? It’s not as if she were some crime scene investigator. She didn’t even know what she was supposed to be looking for.

“I had Hallie move all the money and business information,” he told her, suddenly just behind her, making her jump. “Those are just empty drawers and shelves. Even the register has nothing of worth in it.”

She nodded. A good idea with how many people would be roaming around and coming in and out of this place in the next who-knew-how-long.

She still didn’t like the idea of Wayne snooping around the area. She shivered.

He was the one who’d sent her those photos, she just knew it. Blackmail. Both for her and for him. Because Wayne thought Max was important to him. Thought they had some kind of connection.

She shook her head.

“You knew that Wayne had sent the photos, didn’t you?” she asked, still staring at the untouched counter space. She just needed something to do. Something to occupy her. So she didn’t have to think. About how helpless that made her feel. About how very little she could actually do.

She did not want to think about the man looming just behind her. She didn’t want to think about the model traipsing around the shop. She definitely didn’t want to think about them together. About him touching her. About him making love to her.

No, Max did not want to, would not think about that artificial, dye-job lawyer. Not anymore. At the moment, she didn’t even want to look at him.

“I had my suspicions,” he answered, letting her fruitlessly search as if he sensed her restless need. “I’ll find proof.”

There was that confidence again. That unquestionable assumption that everything would go exactly as he wanted. Because that was how it should and would be.

“You’re angry again,” he commented so matter-of-factly. “And only partly at Wayne.”

She scoffed. He thought he knew everything.

Never mind that he was right.

“It doesn’t matter.” She shook her head before straightening. “I should go back outside.”

“Max.” He tried to grab her elbow. But she twisted away from him.

“I really need to go help,” she said. “The contractors should be here soon.” She needed to get away. Away from him. Away from the woman. And the hell away from whatever they planned to do. “Make sure you’re both finished up in here before they come.”

“We never said we were exclusive,” he said, reading her mind.

“I never said we were anything,” she countered. “Because we aren’t.” She knew that. They were barely acquaintances. They had no commitment or attachment to each other. “It’s fine,” she told him. “No apologies—”

“I’m not apologizing.”

“No explanations necessary then.” Because she was done. She was a fool for even having considered it. This—whatever the fuck this even was—was too complicated. There was so very little about this that was simple.

For a week now, ever since Hallie’s show and their night in the parking ramp, they’d kept in close contact. Phone calls. Emails. Texts. Even the occasional lunch and dinner. Though they both kept everything achingly professional, each meeting and message had held an electric current running hot beneath it, an awareness that crackled when they neared. She’d felt it—had thought he’d felt it too. She’d felt it grow.

Thought she had anyway.

Now she didn’t know what to feel.

Didn’t want to feel anything at all.

Max gave herself a mental shake. This had to stop. She couldn’t afford this. The scandal. The complications. Him. It was all just too much.

She’d work with him to help Hallie, but that was all. She was done with him. She had to be. To protect her career. To protect her heart. It was the only answer.

She shook her head and moved away from him. Reaching for the door, she stepped out in the sunshine and shrugged. “I have to go.”

———

Standing outside the shop, looking in through the huge window display, he watched Max supervise and direct the chaotic operation of putting Hallie’s shop to rights. The biggest mess was the back office that needed new carpet and some water damage work. Max had Building Dream Houses tearing up the space, clearing out the old to make room for the new. She had volunteers in the main shop area, stripping the floors and painting the walls.

She, Elin, and Hallie were gathered in the middle of the room, studying plans and discussing estimates. Max was in her element. A queen or a general lording over the situation. He couldn’t stop staring at her. She was attractive beyond beauty. The way satisfaction for all they’d accomplished flushed her freckled, peach pearl skin a delicate rose. And the way her determination to keep their progress moving fired clear on her face, lighting her eyes. He could see purpose sharpen her stance and movement to a succinct grace. Success looked damned good on her.

“She’s done an amazing job.” Pip walked up behind him on the sidewalk, her video camera still in her hand.

“Yes,” he said, still watching Max. He expected nothing less from her.

“She’s jealous too.”

Yes. “The kiss didn’t help,” he commented blandly.

She let out a low chuckle. “No,” she said, “I don’t imagine it did.” She shrugged. “I didn’t realize it would cause such a reaction.”

Max had looked somewhere between livid and ill. She’d looked ready to skin him alive.

Which he’d have preferred to the avoidance act she was pulling now. No matter what he did, it was as if she just looked through him. As if she didn’t care. As if he didn’t matter.

He was tired of it. And it would stop.

“And not just hers.” Pip laughed.

He turned to shoot a look at the woman. “Meaning?”

“You didn’t tell her about us,” she said, her beautiful face kept deliberately straight, only the slightest, sad smile betraying anything. “Or about the others, I’m guessing.” She made a small musing sound. “Telling.”

He frowned. “How so?”

“You always let all the women you’re involved with know about the other women you’re involved with,” Pip stated with a observational tilt of her head. “Before they get involved with you.”

His eye twitched. He had a hard rule about that. Honesty—brutal and unvarnished—at all times. Because he never hid who he was and they deserved to know.

“But you didn’t this time,” Pip said thoughtfully. “Like I said, telling.” She cleared her throat. “I should get in there and interview a few of the volunteers.”

Pip was right. He should have said something. Should have told her upfront. It was the responsible, ethical thing to do. Not doing it hadn’t been right.

But Max was so different than the women he usually saw. So rigid and stubborn, stuck in a single way of thought. He had a hard enough time convincing Max to give him anything. Her time. Her consideration. Anything. If he’d told her that he was also seeing other women—submissives, play partners, lovers, casual hook-ups—she’d have written him off outright. He’d never have gotten close to her.

It wasn’t a good reason. Wasn’t a good excuse. He knew that. And to have it sprung on her like that, he may have already lost her.

No.

He didn’t accept that. Wouldn’t.

He knew Max. Was coming to know her, at least. He’d talk to her. Make her understand.

She could accept this. He knew she could.

He needed to think. Needed to prepare.

READ CHAPTER SIXTEEN

 

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The Deviant Nerd - Where Everybody Knows Your Name

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

The Deviant Nerd

Brought to you by Kinksters at Play, join the cast of Donovan's Door in this interconnected collection of stories.

Question: Hey Pip,

So I’m just getting into kink. I’ve read stories and books and gone to sites online. I’m thinking about looking into my local kink community. But I don’t really know if it’s such a good idea. I mean, it’s pretty safe and anonymous doing stuff online, but meeting people face-to-face in real life… I don’t know. Should I do it? Is it worth it?

 — To Munch or Not to Munch

———

Pip: Hey Munch,

You should totally munch!

Like most communities, the kink community exists for multiple reasons. 

One of the nicest perks of having and being part of a kink community, particularly for the new and curious, is that you have so much knowledge and experience within reach. Wanna learn about Shibari? Chances are good someone in the community can teach you. Never tried wax play? Look, it’s happening over in that corner of the play party you’re at; go up and ask for a turn. Need know where you can get a good quality, vegan flogger? Someone out there has one and can tell you which ones are best. Kink is an ever-evolving thing; there is always something new happening, there’s always a new skill to learn, a new toy to play with, a new fetish to have. The kink world is made up of geeks and nerds and dorks who can never be satisfied with what’s out there and have to find new ways to improve it, enhance it, and discover new ways to do it. It’s just who we are. Without that ingenuity, kink wouldn’t—couldn’t—exist. It is perhaps our most defining feature. And community helps to fuel that fire, helping us share it and spur it ever forward.

Which bring us to the thing most people are seeking within the kink community, that sense of connection with like-minded and similarly-experienced people. To find folks who don’t immediately look at you like you’re crazy when you talk about something that seems so natural and obvious to you.

Hell, to have people whom you can talk about it with at all is something that is indescribably comforting to a lot of kinksters. So many of us can’t talk about it to our families or friends because it still carries so much of a stigma. Even those who are accepting, but aren’t in it...

Personally, I’m grateful—unendingly thankful—to have friends who are willing to roll with it. Who will listen to me and my crazy shit and still look at me like...I’m still me.

But there’s still something about talking to people in the community. The people who not only accept it, but get it. Who’ve been where you’ve been. Who are where you are. Who intimately know the joys and sorrows of being who and what you are. Who are not just sympathetic, but empathetic. 

Because the outside can be very hard to deal with alone. From right-wing Christians who think we’re going to hell to well-meaning, if ill-informed, feminists and psychologists who think that we’re all victims and abusers, there are reasons why most of us are still in the closet about this. Why we use fake names. Why we post faceless pictures. People have lost families, lost spouses, lost children, lost friends, lost jobs, and lost lives because being this way is just too different for those around them to handle. There are so many misconceptions of who and what we are that it’s hard not to internalize it, much less to combat it and defend yourself against it. Being part of a community allows you a safe space where, within it, you don’t have to. You’re always welcome.

Another thing it does is it offers safety on a practical level. Munches. Play parties. Social gatherings. Networking. These are things that couldn’t exist without that sense of community. Places where you can meet people who have been (in theory, if not always in practice) vetted and accepted by others. Where you can check references, hear about reputations. If someone is a predator, an abuser, a cheater, or someone who doesn’t respect limits or lies about their STI status, you’ll hear about it. If someone is awesome, if they are an expert at something, if they are teaching a class or offering a service or a product, you’ll know. 

It’s a checks and balances that, while not infallible, is helpful and keeps us safe and honest. People will behave better when they know that they’ll be held accountable, when they know that bad behavior will have consequences. 

Personally, I don’t play with people who aren’t in the established community, who aren’t known by the people I know. Who don’t have people who will vouch for them. Because, during any kind of intense, adrenaline-pumping play, I fully well know that I’m putting myself in a position of vulnerability. I’m opening myself emotionally, mentally, and physically. Laying myself bare to another human being. And if I’m tied up or restrained—hell, even if I’m the one swinging the whip—I’m screwed if the person I trusted proves untrustworthy. Checking references, doing my due diligence and research, keeps me safe. It makes it so I’ve never had a bad play experience—which is something too few kinksters can say.

Lastly, the most popular use of community is as a meeting place. A place to meet lovers, partners, significant others, friends. It’s a way of taking the shame, fear, danger, and isolation out of a life that is too often fraught with it. It does for kinksters what the LGBT community has done for gay people. It keeps us out of skeezy motels and strangers’ basements in the same way a sense of community helps to keep gay kids out of parks at night and bath houses. It means that we can have legitimate, honest, healthy relationships with fellow kinksters rather than sleazy affairs or shame-driven one-night stands. 

It gives a validity to the lifestyle and sets certain standards of conduct. It’s no longer advantageous to treat your play partners as less than human because now your play partners are, if not your romantic partners, are your friends or friends of your friends. You have to—have no other choice but to—acknowledge the humanity of those your play with, as well as your own. Because these are people you will see and will want to see again and again. You want to have good standing with these people. You want to maintain and extend and gain good connections. 

Community means, for better or for worse, you’re not alone in this. You have resources and support systems. You have accountability and scrutiny. You have family.

So, yeah, come find us, Munch. We’d love to have you.

 — Pip, Your Resident Deviant Nerd

* If you have a sex, kink, love, or life question for The Deviant Nerd, email Pip at PipJones.DeviantNerd@gmail.com. 

And read more about Pip’s story in Brought to You By.

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Chapter Fourteen: It Doesn't Exist

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN: IT DOESN'T EXIST

God, what was she doing?

Max bit her lip and maneuvered herself over him, lifting her skirt to straddle his hips.

She shouldn’t be doing this. She knew it. Not with those pictures, and the person or persons behind them lurking out there in the shadows somewhere. Settling herself over his lap, squeezed between him and the wheel of his car like some horny teenager, should be the last thing she ought to do.

But he’d asked her to show him. Had dared her.

She flushed and stared into his heated gaze, her hands reaching out to grab the edges of her jacket. Max had never been to a strip club. Had never seen a stripper perform outside of a movie or a TV show. And, Lord knew, she’d never stripped before, finding the idea of scantily clad women performing for a crowd of demanding, chauvinistic men debasing.

Sometimes, though she’d never admit it, she danced a bit for herself. Alone. In her bedroom after work. Or in a dressing room stall at a store. Not a big production number or anything. She didn’t own sparkly thongs or nipple tassels. She’d never even considered doing it in front of anyone—not a boyfriend or a lover—much less a crowd.

She just liked to turn on some music sometimes, on her stereo or just in her head, and move. After swimming in corporate shark tanks or doing whatever she had to to keep up with and win against the good ole boys, sometimes, she just needed to feel...sexy. To feel beautiful. To feel attractive and desirable. Even if it was just for and by herself.

A masturbatory stroke to the ego, maybe, but it always worked. A closet desire that filled an unacknowledged lack that she never intended to show anyone.

But she was showing him now. She wanted to feel sexy now. Wanted to be beautiful and attractive and desired. She wanted to be wanted. Right now. By him.

She slowly undid the top button of her jacket, pushing her breasts together while she did, enhancing her already ample cleavage. She knew she shouldn’t, but she liked the way his eyes zeroed in on her breasts. Under normal circumstances, she would have smacked the hell out of any man who stared so intensely at her like that. Reduced her to a pair of tits and naked skin.

But, with him, it thrilled her. She wanted him to look. To see. She wanted him to want her. With lust. Hot. And hard. A need stripped down to its basest form.

With a lulling moan that shot through her like lightning, he grabbed her waist, his hand snaking along her back, pulling her closer.

“No.” She swiftly eased away from his grasp. “No touching. This is my turn.” She took his wrists and pressed them down at his sides. “Stay. Sir,” she added with a teasing smirk.

She grinned at his grumbling, so obviously unused to and uncomfortable with the restriction, but she was pleased that he stilled beneath her.

Max, feeling bold, shed the stiff material of her jacket, her shoulders rolling a bit. She unbuttoned the top three buttons of her blouse, displaying the tops of her breasts, before reaching back to free her hair. Pulling the pins, she shook her head, letting her curls fall soft around her shoulders and down her back.

She heard him hiss beneath her. His hips bucked against her skin, his hardness pressing into her heat. “I love your hair,” he said, his voice a reverent lilt. “Like silk spun from fire.”

“Thank you.” As a redhead, she’d heard every ginger joke, knew all the poetry that fetishized her hair by heart. After all these years, it was a given she took for granted. Red hair; you either loved it or hated it. And she supposed she was happy enough that he seemed to like it.

She reached over his shoulder to grasp the band holding his own golden hair in place. He inhaled sharply when she let the strands, thick and cool, flow through her fingers. “I like yours too.” The texture and weight of it felt strange and foreign though she couldn’t quite pinpoint why. She wanted to ask if it was a wig or extensions or maybe an excellent dye job. Hell, for all she knew it was natural.

But it felt rude. And unnecessary. However it came to be, it was a part of him. And, perhaps it shouldn’t have, but it looked good on him. The whole look.

She lifted her arms to fluff her own salon-maintained hair, feeling his body tighten and sit up with attention so his hips again ground up into hers.

She smiled and then pressed back. She tsked him before placing a restraining hand on the center of his chest. “Now, now. The show’s barely begun. I thought you wanted to see. Sir.”

Pleasure—pride and pure ego—rippled through her when he groaned low in his throat. But he stayed still.

She patted his chest.

Good boy.

Keeping her hand over his racing heart, she tugged at the tails of her blouse and peeled back the crisp cloth, letting it fall onto the steering wheel behind her. Then came her skirt, which stymied her for a moment. Straddled as she was, ridding herself of it would be, at best, challenging and, more than likely, clumsy.

But, like he’d said, she was game.

So she reached for the zipper, sliding it down before lifting the skirt up over her head. Laughing, she tried to wriggle out of it in the small confines of the car. She heard his chuckle echo hers before she felt his hands help her out from under her woolen trap.

“Thanks.” She shyly tousled her hair.

“You’re very welcome.” He tossed the skirt onto the abandoned passenger seat as his other hand slid up her thigh, under the soft satin of her slip.

“Ah, ah.” Max wagged a finger at him. She grabbed his hands, tugging them up. “What did I say? No touching, Sir.” She shook her head and let out a disappointed sigh before she pulled him closer, grinning knowingly. “Since you can’t play by the rules,” she said as she placed his hands on the wheel, bringing him almost unbearably close, “ten and two, Sir. Keep ’em at ten and two.”

She saw his frozen eyes fire before he moved to nuzzle her neck, as if the limits she’d imposed just made him wilder, like leashing a beast. The restraints only making him want freedom more. “Show me your breasts. I want to see those pretty, pink nipples.”

She squealed when he nipped at her collar bone. “Behave.” She moaned and craned her neck to bare herself to him.

“Do it.” He nudged the slip’s strap with his nose. “Two pages to show me.”

“Two pages and your hands don’t move.” She liked the idea of him trapped like this. Even if, with his arms surrounding her, she was effectively trapped too, there was something really appealing about holding him hostage. Especially while he held her.

“Do it,” he urged. “Now.”

The muscles in his arms bunched while he fisted the wheel, his eyes widening as she slipped the straps down her shoulders and off her arms. She held the slip to her chest, the thin fabric barely covering, but still concealing her body.

“Now, Max,” he pled, his whole body tensing under her. Around her. The need that frayed his tightly reigned control surrounded her, embraced her. Made her feel oddly and illogically powerful. Daring, even.

She let the material go, letting it pool around her hips, only her bra, plain and the same creamy color as her skin, covering her.

She both heard and felt irritation rumbling in his chest. “I thought I told you to throw out your old bras.” His lip curled at it. “Get rid of it.”

“I need them; they’re practical. You try being busty without a bra and see how ready you are to get rid of them.” She smiled and lifted her shoulder in a disinterested shrug. “Besides, I don’t follow orders.” Her smile widened. “I make deals.”

“Give it to me.” His grip tightened on the steering wheel, his nails clawing at the leather-covered curve. “Inside pocket of my jacket. Left side. Two sheets, plus a third if you give it to me.”

She made a show of thinking it over, cocking her head and pursing her lips before running her hands over his chest. He arched up into her touch, his breath hitching when she brushed over hard nipples on her way to his pocket. Her hand closed over the whole of her file, and she pulled out the seventeen pages left.

She felt him inhale as her fingers unfolded the pages.

She was holding her freedom in her hand. She could take them. Tear them. Destroy them. She bit her lip and touched the paper, so smooth and warm against her skin.

She looked up at him, meeting his gaze. Expectation, hope, and the beginning glimmer of disappointment flickered in his eyes.

Max bit her lip. Taking a breath, she counted out three pages and laid them on top of her skirt before tucking the rest of the pages back into his jacket.

She felt him exhale, relief and excited heat firing his arctic gaze. “Take it off,” he said. “Now.”

Max swallowed and reached behind her back. Like she had with the slip, she slid the straps down before she unsnapped the hooks of her bra. She sat tall as the sturdy, padded, underwired cloth fluttered down onto their laps, leaving her naked and exposed, hidden only by the filmy fog steaming up the car windows. She shivered.

His intake of air was sharp and choked before he groaned. He leaned forward to nuzzle her bared flesh, the fierce angles of his face scraping against her sensitive skin.

“Sir.” She moaned and her hand cupped the back of his head. To pull him away or hold him close, she wasn’t sure yet.

“My hands didn’t move.” He bent to wetly suck her nipple into his mouth. “Ten,” he said, his voice a ragged rasp, before moving to the other nipple, “and two.”

“Oh God!” Her back arched, shoving her breast against his welcoming lips again, her hand clawing at his scalp. “More.” She gasped. More.

She felt him grin against her skin before he closed his mouth over her nipple again, laving it, sucking it. When his teeth nibbled lightly, Max lost her breath.

“More.”

That was all she could think.

More.

Her hands reached between her parted thighs, brushing aside the discarded bra.

“Oh yeah.” He moaned between heated licks. “Touch yourself. Make yourself come for me.”

Uh-uh. He was forgetting the rules again. This was for her. And she would do as she liked. And what she wanted was him. She tore at the fastening of his pants, shoving the zippered halves apart and reaching in to touch his cock.

She snickered a bit. “Of course you’d go sans boxers.” No silk shorts or cotton briefs for him. Nothing but raw vitality beneath his corporate wear. Figured.

“Max,” the hymnal hum of his voice hitched, her nipple popping out of his mouth. His entire body tensed the second her hand cupped him. Satisfaction flooded her and she reveled in the smooth, hard heat of him. “Ah, hell.”

She pulled his semi-hard length free from his pants, wrapping her fist around him, and stroked the swiftly thickening shaft. She looked down at his foxish face, frozen in need, his eyes closed and his head thrown back. Every muscle in his body was held impossibly tight while his hips jerked involuntarily into her palm.

“Ah, God, Max.” He moaned, his hips thrusting faster as he fucked her fist. “Ah, fuck.”

A door slammed.

Max’s heart stopped.

“Fuck!” she heard him hiss as his hands fumbled for his pants. “Shit!”

Oh God. She froze, her mind blanking in panic.

“For God’s sake, get down.” He abandoned his efforts to wrestle his hard-on back into his pants. Instead, he just grabbed her head and shoved her down. Holding her head in his lap, her cheek pressed against his still open fly while she stared wide-eyed at his vicious, angry-looking erection.

Her heart was racing. Oh God. Oh God. Someone was in the parking ramp. Someone had seen them. Caught them. Oh God, what if she knew the person? What if it was a coworker? What if it was Diane?

Suddenly, her mind flooded with the digital images that had stained her inbox. She could almost hear the snap of a camera’s shutter in the parking ramp’s shadows; the imagined sound as loud as the thunder of her heart. Max wrapped her arms over her still exposed breasts.

What was she doing? What if she lost her job over this? What if she got arrested?

She squeezed her thighs together, the slick flesh sliding as she squirmed in her seat. Her flesh felt flushed and hypersensitive, her senses raw. And, Lord, why did she find the idea of getting caught just as thrilling as she did frightening?

“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she whispered like a prayer.

“Shh,” he ordered. “It’s a security guard. And he’s leaving. Just stay still.” His hand shoved her down a little bit more. “And shh.”

She held her breath, tried vainly to slow and calm her heartbeat that ticked in time to the hard throbbing between her legs. She clenched her thighs, trying to still the aching beat, but it only made it worse. Max shut her eyes, groaning inwardly, and waited.

It felt interminably long before his violently alert body started to relax. He stroked her hair, almost absently, before he let her up. “He’s gone now.”

She sat up, pushing a curl of her now mussed hair behind her ear before she tucked her arms back through the slip’s straps, tugging it back on.

She wanted to root around their feet for her bra, needing the extra padding. An extra layer of defense.

He reached over and touched her hair. “I don’t suppose you’d want to pick up where we left off,” he said wryly.

She folded an arm over her breasts. “It’s getting late. I should get home.”

He frowned, but nodded. His hand shifted to cup her cheek. “You’re shaking.”

She shrugged. He had an unsettling effect on her that worried and excited her. “Nerves. It happens.”

He nodded again, his weight shifting almost imperceptibly even as she slid against him. “You’re wet.”

She stalled, sure she’d heard him wrong. He lifted his thigh, pressing harder against her soaked, hot core.

Well. She shrugged. Like she’d said, unsettling. “It happens.”

“I’d offer you everything,” he said, his voice a desperate rake across her senses, “every last sheet—whatever you want—if I thought it would change your mind.” His eyes narrowed on her lips before he brushed his thumb over the pouting flesh.

“It won’t,” she said resolutely, if a little regrettably. The magic—that indefinable spell he wove over her—was gone. While her body still felt hot, ready and willing, it was as if the space now had eyes, peering gazes that pierced through her. It tainted it. She couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Besides. “Like you said,” she sighed, picking up her discarded clothes, “I won’t trade currency of any kind for that.” She wanted this, whatever this was, to be about them. Not about some deal that no longer seemed quite so important.

“I know,” he said, sounding more impressed than disappointed. “A kiss,” he offered, pressing his thumb between her lips. “A fourth sheet for a kiss.”

A kiss? She mentally shrugged, pulled on her shirt and haphazardly buttoned it. She’d have given a kiss for free, for no other reason than she couldn’t stop wondering what he tasted like.

“A kiss,” he promised her. “Nothing more. Just a kiss.”

“A kiss.” She bent to press her lips against his and gasped when he twisted his hand into her hair, holding her close. Predictably, he took advantage and plunged his tongue between her parted lips.

She’d have been disappointed if he hadn’t.

Max inhaled, breathing his scent deep. He smelled wild. Like lust and man and something darker. It made her feel feral. She wanted to pull him closer. She wanted to taste every inch of him. She wanted to eat him alive.

A car started behind them, startling her, causing her heart to pound and her face to flush.

Dear God, what was she doing?

Why did she keep forgetting where they were? Who they were? What they were doing?

Making out. In a car. Like horny teenagers.

And, like in junior high, the idea of almost getting caught heightened everything. Made it so much better. And so much worse.

“Have a good night,” he murmured in her ear.

She shivered before stumbling out of the car, a little dazed. Well, looked like she wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight.

READ CHAPTER FIFTEEN

 

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