Chapter Thirteen
From Natalie’s rules for Foster Boyd, v1
Rule #8: Do not underestimate the value of a plan. Your public persona doesn’t have to be the same as your private one—so long as you manage to keep the private stuff private using the methods I detailed in the first rules. Consider everything the press learns and is fed to be branding of a sort. Like you brand your cosmetics and skin care. You are part of the brand of Boyd Cosmetics, whether you like it or not. With a little planning, you can confidently face the press, knowing that the only thing they’ll be sharing is that which you intended for them to find out. Plan, plan, plan, Foster!
He hadn’t gotten his hands on her in more than twenty-four hours. It was coincidence—they’d flown to Florida to renew their certification for ISO 14001 status, proving their manufacturing, packaging, and distribution adhered to environmental and safety codes. Natalie came along, since the plan was for her to organize some more approved public appearances for them, but also just because he’d wanted her with him. She’d fallen asleep on the plane, dashing his plans to renew his membership in the mile-high club. Once they got there, meetings took up most of the day, and by the time he’d gotten back to the hotel, she’d already been there an hour.
And had fallen asleep. He didn’t want to wake her, since the past few days had been back-to-back work and she’d been amazing—between press releases and otherwise organizing Connor and him—so he knew she needed the rest. He stood over her for long moments, watching the rise and fall of her chest. Unable to resist her entirely, he’d brushed the wild elf locks of hair back from her temple, and she’d turned her face into his touch. For the longest while, he just stood there with her face cupped in his palm as her breath raced across the pad of his thumb.
Then Buffy whined, and he didn’t want to wake Natalie, so he’d taken the dog for a walk.
He never would have believed that the thing between them would have lasted so long. The whole matter had him rethinking the rule about seconds. Perhaps he could be involved with a woman—one who shared his bedroom inclinations—and not be distracted from what he needed to do to keep the company thriving. Besides, there was something eminently pleasurable about knowing the woman he wanted was nearby. And not just for sexual reasons.
He liked her laugh. When she tilted her head back and let it roll free of her throat, his own lips twitched into a smile, regardless of the topic. He liked the way her fingers would curl around his when he reached for her. He liked looking at her across a crowded room and knowing she understood him—frustrated, annoyed, whatever, the nonverbal communication thing was a gift unto itself.
He just liked Natalie. Enough so that he wondered if some gold things could stay. Maybe. In strange and unexpected circumstances.
By the time he made it back to her side—his walk having spun out for much longer than he planned, as the beach was beautiful in the darkness, the waves a balm, and the thoughts of the woman in his bed so damn pleasant—it was nearly morning. He pulled her into his arms, her naked body warm and inviting against his. Burrowing his nose into her hair, he must have dozed off, because daylight streamed into the room when he finally woke up. And his bed was empty, save for Buffy, who was sprawled across his legs and had put his foot to sleep.
Stretching, he listened to the hotel room and tried to decide if Natalie was still there or if she’d left him alone. There was work to do, so she might have left with Connor earlier in the morning. Or she might still be there. They hadn’t gotten around to hotel sex…and he’d bought her a present.
His dick twitched, excited at the prospect, so he rushed to use the restroom before he got hard. Nothing more unpleasant than pissing with a hard dick. Once he’d cleaned up quickly in the shower, he jogged naked back into the bedroom. There, in his suitcase. The leather cuffs were lined with the softest fabric available, but sturdy because of the leather. He’d added a matching blindfold, because he wanted to add a little sensory deprivation play to the menu… Just the idea of her blind, not knowing what he’d do next, spread eagle on the bed with her body practically pulsing with sexual energy, had him throbbing for her.
“Down, boy,” he told his dick. “We don’t even know if she’s still here or not.”
But he intended to find out. Searching the suite, he came up empty. She wasn’t there, so his idea and gift would have to wait. But not much longer. He wanted her.
He headed off to his own meetings, and by the time he got back to the suite, he was sick of her text messages. He wanted her, and they’d gone another day without really seeing each other. He missed the smell of her, the taste of her, the way her hair fell across his arm when he kissed her.
She was an addiction, more tempting than drugs. He wondered if she was missing him as much, or if he was the one out of control. If she had some mystical power over him, and was laughing because she knew what she was doing to him.
He shook his head. Dark thoughts crept in, if he let his imagination go wild. Thoughts about how distraction could become a problem and how his addiction to her could easily be considered just that—a dangerous distraction. Better to focus on his gift and her likely reaction to it when he showed her.
She was in the suite, and apparently had a surprise of her own planned. The lights were on, because she must have remembered that he liked to see her in her passion. Her body was cloaked in innocent white lace, which stopped mid-thigh. The decadent lingerie was practically transparent, revealing an equally flimsy bra and thong beneath. He licked his lips. He liked.
He liked a lot.
Her smile was slow, sensual, and her movements predatory as she paced across the carpet barefoot toward him. “Hey, handsome. Hard day?” She cupped his cock in her hand. “Never mind, found my answer.”
He swallowed hard. She wasn’t usually so forward, but he couldn’t find the words to complain. His throat had gone dry.
“I have a little surprise planned for you, but tonight…you have to agree to play by my rules, or we don’t play at all.” She licked her own lips, considering him through the veil of her lashes, those too-blue eyes almost witchlike in the brightly lit room.
“I prefer my games,” he pointed out.
“You heard the rules,” Natalie said, strolling away from him with a tempting swish of her pretty little ass. “We can play your games later. First, I want to try something new.”
Nothing gold can stay, a tiny voice in his mind whispered. Nothing.
He loosened his tie. “What if I don’t like your games?” he asked. He owned his kinks, and wasn’t sure new meant something he could enjoy.
She glanced at him over her shoulder before she sighed, looking disappointed. “I’m going to be honest with you, Foster, and I expect the same in return. I am not going to force you into anything, and I was trying to set a mood. If my way doesn’t work…fine. We stop. We go back to the tried and true methods that you seem to prefer. But I want to try something, and I truly would appreciate it if you gave it a shot. For me.”
He didn’t want to disappoint her. He wanted her pleasure, her moans, her ecstasy, and he wanted her to trust him to give them to her. But maybe that was what this was all about—maybe she wanted his pleasure, his moans, and needed to be the one to give them to him sometimes.
He loosened the tie again. “I can’t promise I will like it,” he said honestly.
“I can’t promise I won’t chicken out.” She shrugged. “I can’t even promise that I will like it. But…can we?”
“I’ll try anything once,” he confessed. “With you, sometimes twice.”
She smiled, but the look on her face was still a bit disappointed. She’d set the mood, and he’d talked things to death. This was a problem he could fix, even if she wanted to do something different. He moved up behind her, kissing her throat before leaning close to look her eye to eye.
“Let the games begin,” he said. The little shiver of anticipation and hitch to her breath rewarded him, before her smile returned, sunlight breaking through the clouds.
“Okay, to begin with, I wanted you to sit on the bed,” she ordered. “But this bed is too damn tall, so instead, I’m going to go with this chair.” She pointed at the chair in question, an oversized red monstrosity big enough for them both to sit hip to hip on comfortably.
“Are you going to tie me to the chair?” he asked, slipping out of his jacket.
“No, I’m going to ask you to put your arms on the arms of the chair and not move them, though. No matter how much you want to, do not move.”
“You’re using my own techniques against me,” he growled, arching his brow at her.
She shrugged. “You’ve heard the saying about goose and gander?”
“Yeah,” he answered.
“Sit on the damn chair, Foster.”
He obeyed, pleased when she paced closer, looking at him carefully. “Grip the arms,” she ordered. “And just watch.”
She stepped between his legs, and he parted them to allow her the closeness. Her soft hands framed his face, tracing over his brow before her thumbs grazed his cheekbones.
“You’re so damn hot,” she whispered.
“I like you, too,” he answered.
“Shh,” she whispered. “Just feel.” Her lips began at his eyes, tracing delicate pecks across the tender flesh there. She popped a tiny kiss onto the tip of his nose before dragging his head back and satisfying herself with his mouth. He was so hungry for her, starved for the taste, that he didn’t even realize his hand had snaked up to her waist to pull her closer until she captured the wrist with her delicate fingers.
“Nope,” she whispered. She replaced his hand on the armrest and kept her fingers around his wrist like an elegant shackle. “I said you couldn’t move.”
He nibbled her bottom lip, capturing the flesh and pulling slightly while meeting her eyes before releasing it. “Habit,” he admitted.
Her fingers moved to his tie, removing it slowly while massaging his neck muscles. Eventually, she moved behind him, digging those fingertips into tension he didn’t even realize he carried until she worked it loose with her clever touch. He sighed, relaxing into the chair. Just her touching him was more perfect than he could have imagined.
Then she was in front of him again, her smile beatific as she posed for a second. “You like to rip things off me,” she stated.
“I haven’t ripped a thing, since the tank top,” he countered. But her fingertip was at the waist of the confection on her body, and she ripped a hole to reveal her belly button and the soft curve of her waist. “Yeah, but I picked up on it pretty quickly.”
His hands clutched the arms of the chair. Was she planning a little strip tease? “I like it better when I’m the one doing the ripping.”
She crawled up his body, her hands dragging from knee to waist as she moved. Her touch had him throbbing, surging out of the chair for more of her. He stood, holding her little body against his as he kissed her with all the passion she was building in him. But right as he cupped her ass, she whispered, “Naughty boy. Do not touch.”
He squeezed the gorgeous globes once, shivering when she bit his earlobe. He could stand there, holding her, all day. Maybe while fucking her. “But…you feel so damn good.”
“Put me down and strip,” she whispered.
He groaned, not wanting to put her down at that point, but he obeyed. Her game, her rules.
Even if she killed him.
Once he was naked and seated in the torture chair again, he raised a brow at her. “You’re a bit overdressed.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll take care of that.” But she’d knelt between his legs. “Do me a favor?” she asked, smiling sweetly.
“Anything,” he agreed, his voice gone hoarse from the view. Her breasts were pushed up by that barely there bra, and he could just peek her left areola over the top of the cup.
“Rip this side, right here?” she pointed at the bra, circling her own nipple with her fingertip.
Obeying fast, he shredded the soft lace, tracing his own hand over the mesh-like material underneath so he could cup her breast in his palm.
“Like that?”
“Hands back on the arms,” she said.
He obeyed, licking his lips. His dick was so hard, he thought he’d burst with need for her.
She slid her body against his leg, rubbing that freed nipple against the skin of his inner thigh. When she reached him, she again took his lips in a kiss that had him drunk on the taste of her. On the thought of her bucking against him, her ass in his hands.
But she pulled away again, slowly lowering her body until she could put his dick in her sweet little mouth.
“You’re killing me,” he confessed, moaning at the feel of her tongue at the base of his cock. But his hips were rocking in time with her motions. “I’m not going to last long, not like this.”
She released him from his torment, looking up at him innocently. That’s when he saw her hand between her own legs.
“Fuck,” he whispered, then he moaned. She looked so damn hot like that, he considered making her do that again in some future play. Just so he could watch.
But she had a condom in her hands, and she was easing it gently onto his body. Her mouth was everywhere, kissing his thighs, licking his cock, teasing him until he felt like a caged animal ready to shred that lace from her body and shove himself inside to please them both.
Straddling his lap, she met his eyes. “I’m in control this time,” she whispered. “But don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”
“Let me touch you,” he ordered, snapping the words at her.
“Fine, but stay like this. Don’t leave the chair.” With that, she took him inside her body and a moan broke free of him. His hands were on her waist, guiding her motion.
He had to spread his legs a bit more, giving her more room to move, but she allowed him to scoot a bit lower on the chair. She allowed him to grip her hips, angling her better, increasing the power of her thrusts by rising to meet her.
And her mouth. Her kisses were more potent than the finest bourbon, going right to his head and shooting fire to his balls. He jerked into her, his rhythm uneven as his control had been lost to the scent of her, the lacy feel of her, the press of her nipples to his chest.
He thrummed his thumb against her clit, needing her closer, because he wasn’t kidding. He couldn’t last. He wanted her too badly. Needed her.
“Natalie,” he whispered.
“Foster,” she answered. Or faster. He wasn’t sure which. It didn’t matter.
He couldn’t obey her any longer. His control was gone, given to her on a whim. Dropping to his knees, he slid them both off the chair and eased her onto the floor. Catching one of her legs under the knee, he dragged it over his shoulder and pushed into her. At this angle, her breasts jiggled with each thrust, with each uneven breath. Her nails scraped his scalp, his back, as she clawed to get closer to him. They were primal, they were out of control. And when his balls gathered up and the orgasm finally raced through him, he called her name over the harsh cries coming from her throat. “Natalie!”
Her legs twitched, the clutch of her satisfaction milking him as he unraveled in her arms. “Natalie,” he whispered again, feeling a little broken even through the satisfaction. Her kisses, her arms, they held him tight while he tried to reassemble his sanity after the little death in her arms. His hips still bucked, little thrusts that really just pressed them closer together. He grasped her head, dragging kisses along her ear, her neck, just holding her while his muscles continued to spasm beyond his control. Her breath was harsh in his ear, but her touch was gentle. Loving. Tender.
If he wasn’t mistaken, she’d just changed the game. The rule was that he wasn’t supposed to fuck a woman more than once—it was his rule. Never go back for seconds. For her, he’d agreed to break that rule.
But he had a funny feeling that they hadn’t fucked. Natalie Stolen had managed to make him do something he’d sworn he would never do. They’d made love.