Brielle

 

I’m lost in his eyes, in his deep, watchful stare, wondering what will happen next. He’s in no hurry to rush our first meeting, and I appreciate that. This is all so new for me; I want to soak up every detail.

“Did you do what I asked?” His voice is soft and controlled. It’s the kind of voice that washes over you, making you feel warm and desirable. I could listen to him speak for hours.

“What do you mean?” My heart begins to hammer as if it knows something I don’t.

He leans in closer, and my pulse pounds in my ears as he draws near. His gaze never wavers. Never strays from mine. Being in his presence is overwhelming. He’s so strong and sure, as I suppose a Dom is, but I had no idea it would feel like this.

My body heats up, growing warm for him. He hasn’t even touched me, hasn’t spoken a single word. He simply studies me from across the table, and it’s as if he owns me. He could do anything he wanted, and I’d mold to his wishes.

His eyes remain on mine, and though my natural response is to look away, I don’t. This is a test, and one that I very much want to pass. It’s as though he can read me with a single look. Those warm, mocha-colored eyes just dismantled me like a bomb.

“Your panties,” he says coolly after several minutes. “Go into the bathroom and take them off. Place them into your purse and bring them to me.”

Say what now?

In his e-mail he asked me to wear red panties, and it was a point I fought with myself over. I didn’t own a red panty-and-bra set. And I knew he’d never see them anyway—this being the first time we’ve met, and my general sense of modesty. So why, for the love of God, I rushed out to Victoria’s Secret at the last minute last night and bought a red G-string and push-up bra, I can’t explain. Maybe my subconscious anticipated this moment.

“I can’t just go take off my panties in a public restroom.” I meet his icy stare with an incredulous look of my own.

He raises his chin. “The choice is yours. I need to know you’re dedicated to this. To me.”

This is apparently my first test. And my stupid type-A personality not only wants to pass, I want to ace it.

I rise from the table on shaky legs. He watches me while I lift my purse from the seat beside me and exit the booth. I feel wicked and dangerous, and suppress a naughty giggle at the thought. I like this side of me that so rarely comes out to play. This feeling could become addictive.

When I enter the ladies’ room, I glance into the mirror to see a smirk slashed across my face. My cheeks are stained with two splotches of pink, and there’s a mischievous glint in my eyes. We’ve hardly begun working together, and I feel like a different woman already. Funny how taking control of your life will do that to you.

Alone in the bathroom, I slip into the first stall and latch the door behind me. A moment later, the outer door opens and two sets of high-heeled shoes click across the tile floor.

“Did you see who that was? He was sitting with a woman, but now he’s alone,” a woman’s voice says.

“How could I miss him? Six foot three of sexy with a bedroom stare powerful enough to knock you up from across the room,” the second woman answers, and they share a wave of polite laughter.

I can’t explain how I know, but I’m sure they’re talking about my date. With my skirt bunched up around my hips, I wait and listen.

“It’s good to see him out. That was so sad what happened to him.”

“It was devastating,” the second woman agrees.

The water from the faucet drowns out their voices and I can’t make out their words, but I’m trembling. They implied that something tragic happened to him, and now that I think about it, there has to be more to his story.

He’s a handsome, successful bachelor. Why is he single? Why does he do this?

Unease churns inside me. I’m not sure if it’s wise to get involved in something I don’t understand. But what choice do I have? The thought of returning to my lonely single existence sounds miserable. Tonight is the most successful date I’ve had in a long time. Sure, it’s probably just because I’m paying him, but still, I feel different. Calmer, more graceful, in control.

When the women exit the bathroom, I force myself back into the present. There’s no way I’m giving up now. I need to see what happens next. I push my fingers into the strings at my hips and slide the panties down my thighs. Depositing the tiny scrap of red lace into my purse, I exit the restroom with my shoulders squared.

In my absence, the waitress has removed my salad plate and our glasses, and left the check. I slide back into my spot in the booth, sitting directly across from him. His mouth twitches with a smile as if he wants to ask me how it went, but he remains ever silent and watchful. It’s as if he knows I’m moments away from handing over the evidence, and doesn’t need to fill the silence with senseless chatter. His confidence is addictive.

I match his self-assured posture and reach inside my small black handbag, balling the panties in my fist. Swallowing a sudden blip of nerves, I reach across the table, extending my hand toward him. Discreetly, he reaches out and takes my offering, immediately moving his hand to his jacket pocket and placing them safely inside.

He’s going to keep them? I figured this was an assessment, designed to make sure I could follow basic instructions. I didn’t imagine him pocketing my underwear to inspect later.

Geez.

“If there’s nothing else, I suppose we’re finished for tonight,” he says, watching me coolly.

My head is clouded by what I overheard in the restroom and I’m desperate for answers. Unsure what else to do, I nod my consent.

He stands and watches as I grab my purse and exit the booth. He insisted on paying the bill, which was generous, considering all he had was water, and I had cocktails as well as a meal.

When we reach the front of the jazz club, he holds the door and I step out into the night. The crisp Chicago fall demands to be noticed, and I wrap my arms around myself, wondering why I hadn’t worn a coat.

“Will you be okay getting home?” he asks.

“I’ll be fine. I don’t live too far.” I hardly touched my second drink, and the buzz I had has worn off.

Lifting my hand to his mouth, he presses a kiss to the back of it. The gesture is so unexpected, so intimate, that I flinch.

His eyes flash on mine, noting my uneasiness. “I need you to be comfortable with me, Brielle,” he says in a low voice, his mouth still on my hand.

I nod. “I know. This is just all so new to me.”

“How long has it been since you’ve been intimate with a man?” he asks, studying me.

I consider lying, because, damn, the truth is embarrassing. But he’s been honest with me in everything so far, at least I think he has, so I decide to treat him with the same courtesy. “Four years.”

His throat works up and down, the only indication of his surprise. “I promise I will make it good for you. You have nothing to be scared of. We’ll decide on a safe word, and all play will stop when you use it. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” I blink up at him, fighting off the shiver tickling my spine.

“What else is bothering you?”

His ability to read me like a book, despite us having just met, is staggering. “It’s just that I’m not used to a man paying me such focused attention, and you’re a very attractive man, and you said women have gotten attached to you, and I don’t want that to happen.”

Oh God, I’m babbling. Someone shut me up! Was there truth serum in that second drink?

His mouth draws into a tight line. “That would be a very bad idea.”

I swallow and nod.

He draws closer, and I can smell mint on his breath. “I know you think this is about Kirby, but this is about you. I’m going to help you become the woman you want to be. One that no man can resist.”

He’s right. That’s what I want, regardless of what happens with Kirby. I’m tired of dating dickheads. I want a shot with a good guy, and if it’s not meant to be with Kirby, well, then at least the Gentleman Mentor will have taught me some new tricks for winning over my real Mr. Right. I deserve love, and I will work hard to make it happen.

“You have to trust me. Trust in this process. It’s going to be fun, I promise.” He gives me a flirty wink and treats me to that dazzling white smile.

Dizzy, I’m not sure how to respond.

“What have you got to lose?” He leans close, his mouth almost at my neck. My impulse is to lean into him, to give him everything he wants, but that makes no sense. I hardly know him.

His lips brush against my throat. They’re warm and soft, and I can tell he’s restraining himself from pressing me further.

Pulling back, he straightens his jacket. “Good night, Brielle.”

“Night,” I murmur, transfixed by him. I try to think of something witty to say, some comment about my panties that are still in his jacket pocket, but I’m at a loss.

He doesn’t say anything else, almost as if he wants the anticipation to build between us. It’s apparent that he’s intentional in everything he does, and this moment is no exception. He waits while I get into my car before walking over to a black luxury sedan and climbing inside.

• • •

 

Hale

 

That was interesting as fuck. When I walked in and saw her, I thought it was a dream. I vowed then and there to treat her as any other client, because if the truth came out, it would ruin everything I’ve built for myself.

I watch her car pull away and wait until her taillights disappear from sight. Then I reach into my jacket pocket and remove the tiniest piece of red lace I’ve ever seen. These are a sore excuse for panties. I ought to punish her, spank her fine ass for torturing me with the knowledge that she barely kept her pussy covered all day while waiting to meet me. Was she trying to tease me? That won’t do. I can’t have her thinking she has the upper hand. I need to show her who’s in charge.

I bring the fabric to my nose and inhale deeply. Sweet feminine arousal greets me. Fucking hell. My cock hardens and tugs at my zipper. Glancing down, damn if I don’t see a tiny damp spot in her panties. Something tells me my new little sub is going to be fun to play with.

But in the meantime, I start my car and head toward Chrissy’s apartment.