I scrambled off his lap and tore off my clothes like there was a race to get naked and I would be damned if I wasn’t going home with the trophy.

My clothes told an erotic story. My yoga pants were a black, spandex puddle beneath the coffee table. Since I had to peel them off like tights by the time I got to my ankles, I just left them where gravity put them—on the floor. My t-shirt marked the line where the hardwood met the fluffy rug that covered most of the living room. We put it down when Hope started crawling, wanting something plush beneath her.

It turned out that it had other helpful uses as well. When I lowered myself to my knees, locking my hands behind my back, my attention was locked on Jacob. Biting my lip as he got comfortable, eyes licking me from head to toe. There wasn’t the bite of pain when my kneecaps met the hardwood floor. My undivided attention was given to my Dom. I saved my put-the-pain-on-the-back-burner-so-I-can-revel-in-the-pleasure for whatever naughty punishments he had in mind.

He tilted his head, like he was determining whether I could handle it or not. I tried to steady my voice. “S-so, what now?”

He righted himself, his mouth the biggest tease of all, especially when the sides curled ever so slightly. Making me want to break protocol and go back to where I’d been. Straddling him. Tasting his smile. Dueling with his tongue.

“What now?” he repeated slowly. “Are you in a rush, Leila? Do you have more pressing engagements?”

“No,” I frowned, nostrils flaring. I knew I was getting ahead of myself, but he wasn’t playing fair. He couldn’t fire the starting shot and get me all excited, then expect me to be an A+ submissive. His eyes swept my face, clearly waiting for me to apologize. I was in no rush to oblige, but I flexed my fingers and let it go. “Sorry.”

“Interesting,” he mused. He brought his powerful arms to his chest, cradling his chin. Stroking it, like he was mulling over why his submissive loved to top from the bottom. Why he not only put up with it, but secretly loved it when I let Leila peek through. The sub who loved to give it all over to her Dom—and couldn’t help but give him a hard time while she was at it.

“I’ll remind you of the obvious.”

He counted it out on his fingers. Thick fingers. Fingers I wanted on me. Buried in me.

“You run a great many things and do it very well. Hope has the best mom in the universe, hands down. Pretty sure I’m going prematurely gray-” He gestured at his temple, where of course there wasn’t a spot of gray, but this wasn’t about facts as much as making a point. “-but there is no woman in this life or the next that could measure up to my wife. Your clients are damn lucky to have you in their corner. And no one else orders Sullivan’s just like I like it,” he winked, but the playfulness had an edge. The sharpness entered his voice, outlined the angular perfection of his face.

Lines.

Shadows.

Sex.

“But in this space, I run things. I ask the questions, you give the answers. I tell you what to do...” He trailed off, his grin returning with a vengeance when the heat in my cheeks gave me away.

We were only a couple of feet from each other. Me on my knees, Jacob on his metaphorical throne. Close enough that he could see the insolence flash in my eyes.

“Are you testing me?” He moved even closer, to the edge of the couch. He leaned forward until he was eye level with me. Breath mingling with mine. Daring me to say yes.

I scissored into my bottom lip as a different kind of heat took over. I wanted him to take me. He knew the answer and I knew what I was supposed to say. I could lie, and get punished...or I could be honest—and get punished anyway.

Luckily, it was a win/win for us both.

I raised my chin defiantly and licked my lips, like I could taste whatever delicious plans awaited me.

“Yes, I am.” I put the final nail in my coffin. “Sir.”

I held my breath.

Glared into his eyes, the waves the color of a coming storm.

Navy blue.

Flashing.

But he did nothing.

I didn’t exhale, glancing at my breasts. I could almost make out every goose bump. Every pore waiting for his brutal touch.

And still...nothing.

I let go, exhaling as my shoulders slumped in kind.

Jacob’s response?

A wink.

A wink!

It should have been infuriating, but it just made the fluttering in my core literally take flight. Wings swarming to my throat. Lodged there, butterflies colliding with one another. Keeping me from saying the obvious.

This was my punishment. Making me wait. Forcing me to count the seconds until he’d erase the heartbeat between us.

He reached for me, his fingertips grazing my cheek. Ghosting across my skin as his eyes turned sexually lethal. “Any Dom worth their salt knows how to keep their submissive on their toes.” His touch danced across my collarbone, gaze zeroed in on me. Not missing a thing. “You thought you’d provoke me. Force my hand. We’d get caught up in the frenzy and before we know it, I’m inside you and we’re both lost, mad with lust. Right?”

I was caught.

He read my mind like he had a script in his hands.

He stopped stroking my collarbone. “That wasn’t a rhetorical question.”

“Yes!” I said instantly, almost reaching for his hand and putting it back where it had been. We were still solidly in rated R territory, but I’d take it. I wanted him. I wanted him to know I needed this power play just as badly as he did.

“That’s better.” He possessed me, not only grazing my skin this time, but rounding my left breast. Fondling the curves, slowing time down until he rewrote the rules altogether. There was no longer seconds and minutes and hours. I existed in a place of breaths, in and out. In flesh. My flesh, in his hands.

“Do you trust me, Leila?”

The me that was eager for him, craving the instant gratification of his body and my body, nearly blurted out the affirmative. But I had a better idea.

I sat back and locked my hands behind me, tucking my chin to my chest. I took a deep breath. “Yes sir. I do.”

And I did more than just say the words that would unlock our session.

I let go.

I stopped trying to orchestrate our romp and remembered why we did this in the first place. This was about us. About existing in this moment. Knowing that whether he teased me relentlessly for an hour or two, tied me to a St. Andrews cross and did his worst, or bent me over the back of the couch and fucked me, I didn’t get to be on the committee that decided which door he chose. This was about closing my eyes and stepping off the ledge. The adventure. The unknown and the pleasure that came with knowing whatever tricks he had up his sleeve, my Dom would give me exactly what I needed.

I waited for him for what felt like an eternity and then some, erotic shockwaves trembling through me. I embraced it and just savored his eyes on me. The nearness of him. Then he did one better and lifted my chin.

He didn’t bark an order. His voice was deep, reaching inside me. Calling to me.

“I’m a lucky man.” The sweetness of the moment flitted across me and then he set my body on fire when he told me what he wanted. What I wanted. “Show me your body.” He left nothing to chance, giving me detailed instructions to follow. “I want you on your back. Knees bent. Spread open for me.”

I barely heard the ‘yes sir’ that passed through my lips over the roar of excitement. Heart in my throat as I obeyed, falling back in the plush embrace of the rug. Parting my thighs. Inhaling and exhaling. Watching Jacob watch me.

He didn’t say a word, he just lowered himself to the rug.

To the valley between my thighs.

The fingers that teased me were back in full effect. Tracing the tender skin. The fevered flesh between my thighs. His eyes caressed my body like I was treasure, something precious that he couldn’t believe he had within his grasp.

“Baby,” he lowered himself, sending a gentle gust over my erotic flesh. Making me wonder if that tender term of endearment was my imagination. But he repeated it, with his mouth blazing a hot trail up my right thigh.

Blowing my slit.

Making me twitch.

Making me beg, and he hadn’t even tasted me yet.

“How can you not see that you’re everything to me?” If that wasn’t enough to melt me, he gripped my hips. “Tell me you need it. Tell me you need me.”

The rawness in his voice wasn’t lost on me. His need. I thought I was waiting for him to set me free, but I never realized he was waiting too. Holding back. Using restraint of his own.

“I need you,” I sighed, fingers locked in his dark tresses. “I need you, Jacob.”

He let out a hungry growl that echoed over my body—and then he went to work.

His tongue slipped inside my warmth. Flicked across my swollen knot of desire, but he didn’t linger there. He wanted to taste me. He found my core, his tongue burrowing deep, taking me, tasting me, fucking me with his mouth. He clutched and gripped me like his life depended on it.

I couldn’t help it. I didn’t ask for permission. To be honest, I couldn’t have asked even if I wanted to. The need was overwhelming.

I had to come.

And if I got punished for it, well, I’d take it.

The world exploded in technicolor bliss, every part of me crying out in unison.

Yes.

Oh my God.

Don’t stop!

“Jesus,” I trembled, still holding onto Jacob when I realized that the words weren’t in my head. They poured out of my mouth.

I released Jacob, adding a few apologetic words to the mix. “I-I-um-sorry-”

“No,” he interrupted, pressing a kiss on my thigh. He rose up, his mouth wet with me. Happiness dancing in his heated gaze. “You did exactly what I told you to.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but I realized that technically, he was right.

“There’s plenty of time to punish you,” he explained, one side of his mouth curving deliciously. “I just wanted you to know something.” He stared so deeply into my eyes that it didn’t matter if I was fully clothed or butt naked. He saw me. “You’re not lucky that you have me, Lay. I’m the lucky one.”

*

“LEILA, YOU’RE GONNA be a hit!”

If the makeup artist wasn’t still working her magic, carefully dusting powder beneath my bottom lashes, I would have rolled my eyes. I’d made the mistake of telling Simone I was nervous about attending the black tie event without Jacob, and she’d been dialing up the compliments ever since. My jerky, awkward movements had already forced the woman to retrace her steps. I tried to not move anything other than my lips. “Yeah, right.”

The makeup artist was subbing for my usual woman, who knew me well enough to not go all Mona Lisa on my face, allowing time for the inevitable ‘oops’. Instead, the makeup artist looked ready to strangle us both.

I knew a handful of things about the tight lipped artist. Her name was Olga. I’d raised my eyebrows expectantly, after I gave her the full monty, first and last. I even threw in a handshake, despite the fact that she took a look at my bare face and slumped her shoulders like she was already defeated. She added ‘Just Olga’ and started laying out every makeup item in her kit, like she’d need all the help she could get.

‘Just Olga’ was a big fan of  my bun, and had her own jet black hair pulled into a painfully sleek knot that rested at the nape of her swan-like neck. I knew that she wasn’t a dancer, despite her slender, ballerina-esque frame because when I tried to strike up a conversation and asked if she was a dancer, she’d scowled a ‘no’. When I tried to explain that I was asking because her bun fit in the world of leotards and leg warmers, a beautifully strict world that Olga would fit perfectly into, she informed me that buns were slimming. Pointedly. Like she was handing down some sage advice, for my benefit. I stopped trying to be friendly and let her do her work. We’d existed in near silence until Simone arrived.

Simone, who was oblivious to the awkwardness and just dialed up the charm, trying to make me feel less like a fish out of water. And now, from the way Olga was stabbing at my cheeks with the brush, I’d offended her. Again.

“Everything okay?” I asked, hoping that her dainty wrist wouldn’t slip and send the fibers into my eye.

“You tell me.” She narrowed her metallic gaze over my face. Analyzing it. “I do my work and-” She shrugged her black clad shoulders and repeated what I’d said. “Yeah, right.”

I relaxed slightly because there was some distance between my eyeball and her weapon. I almost brought my hand to my mouth, laughter bubbling in my throat when I realized that it was a misunderstanding. I caught myself and kept my hands in my lap. “You think—I wasn’t saying that I don’t like it, I was just messing with my assistant.”

Olga didn’t look fully convinced. “Oh. A joke.” She didn’t even crack a grin as she wheeled back to the counter and retrieved a mirror. “I worked very hard, Mrs. Whitmore. I hope you like.” The ‘or else’ was left unsaid, but even Simone picked up on it, arching her pale brow.

I tried to not let annoyance creep into my voice. “Not too hard I ho-Holy crap!” The room went quiet, the two sets of eyes that weren’t mine locked on me. My hands locked on the mirror handle so I wouldn’t drop it out of shock.

I looked HOT.

I always tended to go as natural as possible, gently steering makeup artists away from anything experimental. Since Olga took no cues from me nor asked if I had anything in mind before she went to work, I was literally in her hands, a fact that made me nervous...but paid off and then some.

If regular Leila was a force to be reckoned with, this was the face that would crash Instagram, every comment asking who did my makeup and where I got it, despite all that information being tagged and included in the photo. Because of my bun, carefully constructed shortly before Olga arrived, my forehead could have been the star of the show, but contours and vision focused attention on the smoky, midnight allure of my eyes. The dark lines and shimmer brought out the gold flecks in the brown, like pixies dancing beneath the moon. Expert contouring gave my round nose angles that reframed my entire face. But it was my mouth, crimson and lined so that your eye was drawn to it, that dialed it up to ‘hot!’. The curves were undeniably kissable. Heck, it almost made me want to kiss Olga. Luckily for her, she was at a  safe distance. On pins and needles, like she was waiting for me to order her to start over.

“Olga, you did an incredible job!”

A crack splintered the woman’s facade and a grin streaked across her face, disappearing as quickly as it appeared. “Glad you like it.”

I wanted to tell her ‘like’ wasn’t even close—I was well into ‘love’ territory, but she started collecting her things and Simone dove in to give her 0.03.

“Oh my gosh, boss lady!” She wielded her phone like a professional photographer. “I’ve gotta snap one for Mr. Whitmore.”

That was enough to wipe the smile off my face. It was already sucky that he wasn’t my date tonight. A last minute emergency had stolen him away this morning.  I’d laughingly soothed his annoyance that I was headlining a dinner charity auction, where he wouldn’t be able to stare down my dinner date. Basically, I, and several other staff members, were auctioning off sharing a meal for a good cause. Jacob was now off the hook, but I was still up on the auction block. I certainly didn’t want to rub in the fact that I looked amazing, and was having dinner with some unknown person. “Let’s hold off on the pics for now.”

She slipped the phone back in her clutch without hesitation, a knowing smile on her rouge lips. “Say no more. You really do look freaking amazing, Leila.”

I thanked her, and thanked Olga again before the artist rushed off to craft her next masterpiece. When we were alone, and I finally trusted myself to stand and keep my hands from my face, I turned my attention to how amazing Simone looked. “Speaking of incredible-”

She perched both hands beneath her chin and flashed me a megawatt smile. “This old thing?” She did a twirl, so I could get a good look at her ensemble. Her sleeveless, body hugging dress was covered in sequins and Swarovski crystals. The diamond studded, blinged out effect would have been gaudy and distracting on anyone else, but she looked elegant. Her makeup was soft, her hair falling in pale curls around her doll-like face. A face that was scrunched and contemplative as she stared at her phone. “Do you need help getting in your dress? The car should be here in 20.”

I’d wisely chosen a strapless dress, just in case. “I’m good, just give me ten.”

From the smirk she didn’t think I saw, she was likely finding the driver’s number so she could tell him we were running late.

The gauntlet had been thrown. My mission: to actually take ten minutes putting my dress on, without disturbing my hair and makeup.

I bounded up the stairs, pausing at Hope’s room. Any other night, she’d be getting her second wind right about now. Tonight, I’d called in reinforcements. Hope was snuggled up against my mother’s shoulder, fast asleep. I knew the clock was ticking, but I tiptoed in, wishing I had my phone so I could capture the serenity on Hope’s sleeping face...and the pure bliss on my mother’s.

Pure bliss that transformed into pure joy when she lifted her eyes from the crown of Hope’s head to meet mine.

“Oh my God!” she mouthed, her eyes rounding with awe.

I flashed her a thumbs up before I took a page from my daughter’s book and signed ‘thank you’. I clicked the door shut gently and made my way to the bedroom. My gown was hanging in the dressing room and I managed to get it on in record time, tulle skirt and all. Even without a clock handy, I knew I had time to linger. To pause in front of the mirror and picture Jacob in the doorway, tie slack around his neck as he took me in like he was seeing me for the first time.

I grinned at my reflection before I made my way back downstairs, my smile broadening as Simone did a double take.

She was so in awe that she doubled down on the professionalism.

“Mrs. Whitmore,” she gushed, eyes going up and down. Over the onyx bodice, glittering with beads. Sweeping over the whimsical skirt, then back to my face. “You are gonna make some money tonight!”

*

I GLANCED NERVOUSLY at the compact, not a hair or sparkle out of place. My stomach? It was busy doing jumping jacks. I’d specifically chosen this venue because it was intimate, without the high rollers feeling like they were jammed into a sardine can.

Since I was behind the stage and I could practically feel the audience’s eyes, even from behind the curtain, I wished I’d done one better and booked something epic. That way, when I stood center stage while the filthy rich bid on having dinner with me tonight, I wouldn’t be able to make out the expressions on the audiences face.

The incredulity if I was ‘sold’ for too high of a price.

Sympathy if I barely garnered enough to cover the dinner we’d be having.

I fiddled with my wedding ring, reminding myself it was for a good cause. Worst case scenario, I’d have to awkwardly get through a three course dinner with someone unpleasant. And at the end of it, they’d write a check that would sponsor local, underprivileged students through the school year. School supplies, enriching field trips, conferences, even a summer trip to Europe. All expenses paid.

There was plenty of money to go around in the room. CEOs. Tech moguls. Wives who ruled the boardroom and the home front. The only thing that kept me from retching into the nearest trashcan was remembering why I was here. There was no putting a price on the experience their support would offer the kids.

That’s what I clung to, focused on instead of the insecure whispers.

Who would pay any sizable amount of money, to eat three tiny plates of food with you?

“-and here is our first dinner companion for the evening, Mrs. Leila Whitmore!”

The applause rivaled the ‘holy crap’ squeal in my mind as the curtains parted. My eyes shot out to the glam, fur stole-d, tux and bow tie filled crowd. Our event planning company had outdone themselves. The Munroe Villa had been transformed into a space that would have made Gatsby tip his hat. The golden chairs with crimson cushions actually looked comfortable, unlike most of the chairs at these kind of events. The chandeliers that sparkled above added to the ambience that transported me back to my bedroom in the house that I grew up in, flipping through the pages of a magazine, imagining what it would be like to attend an event just like this.

And that’s what steeled my legs as I strutted over to the podium, bulbs flashing. This was a first: me dressed to the nines, and the paparazzi weren’t asking me to step aside so they could get a picture of Jacob. There was a little girl or boy who would see clips of this event; children who would see this world of luxury and prestige and dream. And the one hundred students sponsored by the Whitmore Foundation? They’d do more than dream. They’d see and experience things that would show them that the sky was the limit.

I rested my palms on the podium and looked out into the sea of glam. The applause calmed down without me having to do anything awkward like clear my throat, speak over the clapping, or tap the mic. “Thank you, Mr. Cruz.” I flashed a smile at our emcee. He returned it with a flourish. “And thank you to everyone here tonight. Your contributions to the Whitmore Foundation will help unlock a whole new world of possibilities for some hardworking young people that can’t wait to spend your money!”

I’d been a little nervous about the joke, but I got a ripple of appreciative laughter. Enough to lead in to the main event: the auction.

“So without further ado...” I trailed off awkwardly, but Carlton was at my elbow, a seasoned talent who’d rocked the mic at a handful of awards shows and dinners. His personality was as warm as the red tie at his neck.

“Let’s give our first dinner guest for the evening another round of applause!”  The crowd didn’t disappoint and after he made me blush all kinds of red, he called the room to attention by dropping his timbre to a level that required everyone to be quiet to make out his words.

He transformed into an auctioneer before my very eyes, calling out amounts of money that aligned with the paddles the star studded audience raised.

I must have been buzzing off the adrenaline because the numbers he was throwing around, that people were bidding just to have dinner with me, were humbling.

1,000.

1,500.

2,500.

“Five thousand dollars!”

Someone cried out the bid from the back. It was a woman’s voice, and I exchanged a slack jawed look with Mr. Cruz as he waited for any other bids. When no one challenged the 5k bid, he giddily struck the gavel.

He leaned in after he closed my dinner auction, his volume low. “Congratulations, Mrs. Whitmore. I don’t want to jinx anything, but I have a feeling you’re gonna raise a lot of money for the foundation.”

Stunned, and eager to shake the hand of whoever was willing to make such a donation and sit through dinner with a stranger, I headed back stage.

I paused at the vanity, taking a swig of my bottle of water, trying to remember what I did with my phone so I could text Jacob and tell him the good news. It was propped behind my clutch, so I snatched it up and thumbed through to Jacob’s number. I hit the FaceTime button, just in case he was free.

The minute I saw the ‘connecting’, tears of happiness filled my eyes. I didn’t even wait  until I saw his face before I started talking.

“Baby, you’re never gonna believe-”

I stopped when I glanced at the mirror and saw the last face I was expecting to see.

“Corbin?”

He saddled me with a lazy smile that confirmed my worst fears. He probably had a friend call out his bid. I would have recognized his voice. I would have told him to go to hell, forgetting myself, forgetting everything for a split second.

“Looks like we’re gonna finish that coffee after all, Leila Bear.”