“So the waves are because you like surfing. And the koi, because you were in Japan when you got the tattoo.” I took another bite of bacon, then fed a bite to Nate. We were eating breakfast in my bed the next morning. We’d effectively spent sixteen hours together now—a record date for me—and I wasn’t ready for it to end anytime soon. It was the weirdest sensation—wanting Nate in my space, not minding that he was here. But being conscious of it all the same.
It was still my space. My apartment. I was the one who’d made us a breakfast of bacon and pancakes, and fresh fruit I’d picked up from the market. I didn’t feel comfortable with him going through my cupboards or my drawers. I still had to take deep breaths when I thought about the fact that I’d let him stay all night in my bed.
“Yeah, I got the arm tattoo in Japan with Cade—he’s one of the guys that owns Reach,” Nate said, feeding me a bite of cantaloupe. “I was there helping him and Donovan set up the office when the company first started. Sold a couple of pieces while I was there too. Legal pieces, of course.”
“Of course,” I chuckled. I crossed my legs and finished off the bacon. Nate was sprawled out in front of me and I was sitting up, the plate of food balanced on his torso.
I traced the pinwheel symbol on his chest. “And what does this one mean?”
“That’s a stylized version of a spider’s web,” he said.
“Why did you get that?” I was eager to learn more about him, even though just a few days ago I’d sworn that off. I couldn’t help it. I needed to know him—he was a drug and I needed another fix.
He chuckled. “For one thing, if it was a normal spider web, people would assume I’d done time. But I like what it stands for. Spiders are amazing. It takes a lot of wisdom to be able to spin a web as strong and useful as they do, and the result is often a genuine work of art. Cultures from the Celtic to Hopi to West African have religious stories featuring spiders and webs as a metaphor for spinning your fate. So it stands for creativity and wisdom, in other words.”
I ran my index finger down each of the six spokes. “And you got it because you wanted to be wise and creative? Or because you are wise and creative?” It was so fascinating why people chose to be imprinted with symbols. I loved tattoos, but I didn’t have any on my own body, because I could never decide what I wanted to be marked with forever. What if I changed my mind? What if the thing I loved today wasn’t the thing I loved tomorrow? Or next week? Or next year?
“I hope I’m wise and creative,” he said, his eyebrows raised, fishing for compliments. “But I got it when I was much younger, when I was about twenty-two or so. And then I wanted to be wise. I didn’t feel like I was back then. I’d made a lot of bad decisions. My parents agreed. I’d blown off college, I was heading nowhere. I loved art but I wasn’t good enough to sell any of my own pieces. And I just wanted something to remind me that I was the master of my own fate. Maybe I could be like a spider, weaving wisely and creatively. I could find my place in the world, the way they do.”
“Those nasty little creatures.” I was teasing him. I actually thought what he had to say was pretty honest and amazing. “So it’s like a Post-it note. A memo to yourself, but on your body? I like that.”
“I like you.” He looked at me like he was memorizing me. Like maybe he was tattooing me on his brain.
I shivered, even though inside I felt warmth rushing to the very core of me. Not just in a sexual way, but to where my heart was, where my lungs were. It was a light feeling, like floating, like being lifted in a helium balloon.
But in my head all I could see were chains and obligations and commitments tying me back to the earth. Were the floating and the tethering inseparable? I didn’t want to be tied down, bound to anything, but I liked him too. And I wanted to enjoy this feeling before acknowledging the sharp tug of the string.
“I’m really glad you stayed here last night,” I said. It was the closest thing I could give him to a return of affection. It was big for me to even give him that.
“I am too,” he said. He moved the nearly empty dish off of his torso and put it on the bed next to him so that he could sit up, and then he kissed me as he ran his hands underneath the T-shirt I’d donned earlier in the day.
One kiss somehow turned into lots of kissing, and soon he rolled me over on my back, and the plate went flying to the floor with a loud clatter. We broke apart abruptly, and Nate looked down to see if the plate had survived.
“It’s not broken. But probably quite a racket for the neighbors.” He brushed a long strand of hair out of my face and traced his thumb along my lower lip.
“The downstairs neighbor is a flight attendant. He’s never home. No worries about next door either. It’s been empty for the last several weeks. It’s on the market. So we can be as noisy as we like.”
Which reminded me.
“Hey, speaking of apartments… What’s with yours?” That probably didn’t come out the right way. I tried again. “I mean, I know you’ve been living here for a while, but it looks like you’ve barely moved in. You hardly have any furniture. It’s not very decorated. Doesn’t look like it’s very much of a home.”
Nate shrugged. “I’ve never been attached to places, I guess. An apartment is a place to sleep. A place to store your things. I work too much to spend very much time there. I don’t even own it, so why bother personalizing a rental?”
I supposed I could understand that way of thinking, but I loved my apartment. It was one of the few things that I truly did own. One of the things that really belonged to me. Maybe because I’d grown up sharing a room, it had become important for me to have a space of my own as an adult, and I’d been eager to do that as soon as I could.
So I did. I bought my apartment as soon as I qualified for a loan.
But I could relate to Nate because his desire to not get tied down to places sounded a lot like my desire to not be tied down to people.
Rental or not, I thought space should always reflect the person in it. And not seeing Nate reflected in his left me with more questions.
“What else are you thinking?” he asked, searching my eyes, apparently reading my hidden thoughts. “Go ahead and ask, whatever it is. I have no secrets.”
“I was wondering about the Open Door. How come you just showed up there for the first time? You’ve obviously got the connections. And I’m pretty sure you’re into the kink scene. So why are you just getting into bed with us now?”
“That’s what you’re wondering about? The Open Door is not the only kink game in town, you know. I just hadn’t met the right people to be invited to yours until recently.” He grinned when he said “yours,” acknowledging the fact that I wasn’t quite the right people either.
“You mean you’ve been attending other kink parties the whole time you’ve been in New York?” I couldn’t decide if I was jealous because there were other kink parties that I didn’t have invitations to, or if I was jealous because other people had played with Nate before I had.
“Yes. I’m not a frequent attendee, though. I’m more of a voyeur, because I don’t like entanglements. I work too much to be bothered with the hassle. But I do like the party scene. There are several that I attend now and then. I’ll take you with me sometime. If you’d like.”
My stomach did a flip-flop. I was as giddy as I was the day I’d been asked to senior prom. “I would genuinely like that.”
And since we were talking kink parties, and since he’d just opened even more doors to me, I decided to do something very out of character.
“Do you, uh, want to go with me tonight? To the Open Door?” I stared at the spider web on his chest while I asked. I couldn’t even look at him. I was nervous about his answer. On one hand, I didn’t want an entanglement either. But on the other, I was having a very hard time imagining a sexy night that didn’t involve Nate in some capacity.
“I wish I could, baby. There’s nothing I’d love more than exploring the scene with you, but I have a thing I have to go to.” He lay back onto the bed next to me with a sigh. “You know, you could go to my thing with me. If you wanted to.”
“What kind of a thing is it?” I sat up, eyeing him suspiciously. If I was going to give up a night of kink for him, I had to be sure it was a low-key event that we’d be attending.
“Just a work thing. It’s really complicated to explain what it is exactly, but long story short, I’m obligated to be there. It’s black tie. I know you don’t like to mix work and pleasure.” He stretched his hand over to me and ran it up my thigh, caressing my skin. “But I’d really love to have you there. It would make it less of a drag. Besides, it’s my work, not yours.”
I rolled my neck to one side. He was right. It wasn’t like I had anything else to do for the night. My only plans were to attend my regular party, and I’d already decided that wasn’t going to be any fun without him.
His hand skimmed higher, sloping toward the sensitive area between my legs. “And maybe we’ll get done early enough that we can go to the Open Door afterward.”
“You’re going to wear a tux?” I asked, as though that were the deciding factor. As though I wasn’t distracted by the pathway of his touch.
“I am. We’ll have to stop by my place and pick it up so I can change.”
I chewed on one side of my lip as I wondered if I had anything clean and appropriate to wear to a formal work event. It would be the first time I’d attended one of those things in ages. For the most part, Pierce Industries didn’t include executive assistants at events that weren’t simply office parties, like the one later this month for the holidays.
“What if I don’t have anything to wear?” Everything fancy I owned was made for easy access. They were gowns, yes, but all of them had long slits and plunging necklines designed to show lots of skin.
Nate was already jumping off the bed, headed toward my closet, which made me tense automatically. “What are you doing?”
“Checking out your dresses.” He opened my closet and started moving hangers. “Oh, you have plenty here that would be appropriate. How about this one?” He pulled out a ruched chiffon gown in burgundy with a deep V-neck. It was floor length and pretty modest as far as my evening dresses went.
“Is that what you’d like me to wear?” For some reason the idea of him choosing my dress made me all sorts of tingly and on fire with desire.
“Yeah.” He hung the dress back up then sauntered toward me. My eyes flickered toward his cock, which was semi-aroused. “Will you let me choose the rest of your clothes, too? I’d love to dress you up.”
God, I was wet. Usually, I got wet at the idea of a man taking my clothes off, not putting them on.
Though if I said yes, it would mean he’d be messing around in more of my things. Learning even more about me, creating more entanglements.
But what excuse could I give him not to? “Uh, sure.”
I scooted to the edge of the bed and sat there wringing my hands as I watched him go through my drawers, my heart beating with an unsettled meter. Normally the sight of a naked man would be the cause of my distraction, especially the sight of this naked man. Nate Sinclair had one of the best-looking backsides I’d ever seen. But I was fretting too much to enjoy it, too anxious about him touching my belongings, even though I had nothing that really mattered in my clothes drawers.
It felt like so personal. Almost like a violation. No man—no person—had touched my private things since… I couldn’t even remember when. The last time I could remember was when my sister Francesca found the deck of Chippendale’s playing cards I’d gotten from a girl at school and she’d told my father. My ass had been spanked raw afterward, and, worse, the cards had been confiscated.
Even though I didn’t have anything to hide from Nate now, memories of other physical secrets I’d tried to keep from my siblings were stirred by his rummaging. The sexy lingerie I liked to wear that my mother would have decked me for. My secret dildo I’d hidden under my mattress. The diary I’d kept in my jeans drawer.
I’d lived with a constant ball of anxiety.
To this day, I hated people touching my things. Hated it.
I watched, apprehensive, as he pulled out one bra and then another, then put the first one back and pulled out several more. Finally, he settled on black lace, then moved to my garter drawer. He picked something out there and then found my panty drawer and stalled for a moment, which made me nervous. Well, more nervous than I’d been before.
“Is there a problem?” Did he not like my panties?
He looked over his shoulder at me. “Just trying to decide if I want you wearing panties or not. I think I’m going with not.” He dumped the handful back into the drawer and shut it with his hip. “Where do you keep your stockings?”
“Um. Bottom drawer on the left.”
A few minutes later he had a pair of hose picked out for me as well. Then he urged me into the shower, which he thankfully accompanied me into. I couldn’t have borne the thought of him roaming around my space while I washed. Plus, Nate, it turned out, was really good at cleaning a woman up. Almost as good as he was at getting her dirty in the first place.
After our shower, he was back to directing me again. With a towel slung around his waist, he wrapped me in a robe and set me at my vanity.
“I’d like smoky eyes, gray eyeliner. Pale pink cheeks. Bright red lips.”
I tried to concentrate on my makeup while he rustled through my jewelry box, which was nearly impossible. The spool of tension inside me that had relaxed under the heat of the hot water wound tight again as his fingers rearranged items and moved them from their designated places. After selecting a pair of crystal chandelier earrings and a matching crystal pendant necklace, he got dressed in his clothes from the night before. Finally able to breathe easily again, I made up my face the way he’d instructed.
Once he deemed my makeup perfect, he brought the items he’d pulled for me earlier and helped me dress in them one by one. First the garter belt, and then the bra. Then he helped me roll lace-topped stockings up each leg, attaching them to the clips of the garter belt. When I was done, he stood me in front of him so he could look me over.
“Not quite,” he said, his eyes squinted as he inspected me. “Can you pin your hair up, but loosely? Nothing too tight. Just a low knot would be perfect.”
While I worked on my hair, he disappeared again into my closet, and my stomach twisted. “Nate,” I called after him. “Do you need help in there?”
“Just looking for the perfect pair of shoes, baby.”
Of course. What did it matter if he was in my stuff anyway? I really didn’t have anything to hide. There wasn’t anything I cared about him seeing. I just liked my stuff being mine and mine alone. All those old feelings about my sisters resurfaced the second he so much as looked at my closet. It was silly, but knowing that didn’t change anything.
I shook my head, trying to knock the feeling free, and concentrated on putting bobby pins in my hair. When I was done, I turned away from the mirror and there he was with a pair of high heels that I rarely wore because they were too hard to get on and off. I didn’t have to worry about strapping them on this time, though, because Nate got down on his knees and carefully put them on for me.
Something about it was quite sensual, quite arousing. Strange, after all the crazy things in my life that I’d done, that this moment of domesticity was giving me goosebumps.
When he was done I was five inches taller. He stood to his full height, and now when he looked me over, he smiled and his eyes shone with pride.
“Fuck. That’s it,” he said as he circled me. “You look gorgeous.” I didn’t even have my dress on yet. I stood tall and proud in my lingerie and heels so he could drink me in. “I cannot wait to show you off. For people to see how fucking stunning you are.” When he came around in front of me again, he was rubbing his crotch. “Look how hard I am for you, baby. I should punish you for this.”
My heart was racing, and my mouth started watering. “Definitely. Punish me for what I’ve done to you.” Never mind that he’d been the one to make me look like this. “I bet that’s really uncomfortable.” His pants were completely tented now with a full erection. Being back on familiar ground, back in the driver’s seat, allowed me to relax and enjoy the view.
It made me pretty wet myself, and I told him so.
“Show me. Show me how wet you are.”
I reached down between my thighs and scooped up some of the slick juice that had gathered, bringing up my finger to show him.
He took my fingers and directed them into my own mouth. “Suck it, baby. Then I want you down on your knees, and you’re gonna suck me too.”
I couldn’t get down in front of him quickly enough. He had his cock out so fast that almost as soon as my knees hit the floor, his crown hit my lips.
“I like it deep and I like it quick. No pussyfooting around when you suck me off, you got it?”
I’d given enough blowjobs in my time to know how to give a good one. I’d also given enough blowjobs to know that men liked it many different ways. I didn’t mind trying out different techniques; sometimes I even taught a man he liked something he didn’t know he liked. Most men, even though they knew what they wanted, waited for me to discover it by myself instead of just saying it.
Nate Sinclair telling me in detail how he wanted me to suck him off was one of the hottest things I’d ever heard.
I drew him into my mouth, sucking him in, then running my tongue along the underside of his cock. He was so thick and heavy, it was hard to take him all the way, but I was determined to do it. Because he’d asked. Not every woman had mastered her reflexes the way I had through careful practice, and I wanted to use all that practice to deep-throat him. I put one hand on the base of his cock and pumped it in time with my mouth to make sure he got full coverage, though, to give him the best experience possible.
“Like that, Trish. Just like that.” He was careful around my freshly pinned hair, but he held up a few wispy strands out of my face and peered down, watching himself get lost inside my mouth with each thrust, with each bob of my throat. It was so arousing, and imagining what the sight must be like from his viewpoint made me even more excited. I pushed one hand down my panties to rub myself.
“Uh uh. I don’t want you touching yourself, gorgeous. This time’s all about me.”
So that was the punishment. Denied orgasm.
This man was a sex god.
And so I did make it all about him. I threw every ounce of my focus into it, into giving him the best oral pleasure of his life. I sucked him, hard and deep. I pumped him fast. With my other hand, still wet from touching myself, I rubbed his balls and stroked up to his taint. I could feel he was getting close when his balls began to tighten up close to his body.
“Trish, I want to decorate your tits with my cum. It would be so beautiful on your skin. But I don’t want to mess you up, so you’re going to have to swallow.” His words tumbled urgent and quick. “And I’m coming now.”
And then he did. With another grunt, he exploded in my mouth, no other warning, and I took every bit of him. Swallowed every last drop, because I knew that’s what he wanted me to do. And because I wanted to do it for him, too. Because I was already addicted to his dirty, filthy ways.
When he was finished, he pulled me to my feet and kissed me hard. Kissed me like he was trying to take off my long-lasting lipstick. Kissed me until I was dizzy and breathless and seeing spots before my eyes.
“You keep giving head like that,” he said when he pulled away, “I’m gonna want to keep you around.”
My chest constricted like he’d strung me up in a too-tight corset.
What he’d said—it was sweet and sexy and something that you said after you came when you were still high on the endorphins.
But the problem was, I was starting to feel the same.