Hostile Takeover

Page 33

She left it at that, only because she knew the dangers of getting too personal with him, too fast. Did he know he looked at the others with their wives like the lone wolf? Still part of the pack but somehow not. She’d seen it in his eyes at Jon and Rachel’s wedding. It had frustrated the hell out of her, knowing she was still too young to help ease that for him. In the deepening lines on his face, the more serious set to his mouth, it was more obvious to her now than it had been even then.
He took her hand once more. “It’s impossible to argue with you if you’re going to be unreasonable.”
She slid her other hand around his elbow, so she could press her body against his. “That’s your way of saying I’m right.”
“I would never say anything so foolish. Telling a woman she’s right is like giving a terrorist a nuclear weapon. Widespread destruction is inevitable.”
Pinching his arm, she tried not to linger over the hard biceps that she was sure barely felt the impact. God, the man was built. Even in his suits it was obvious, that powerful cat way he had of moving, the breadth of his shoulders, the way his shirts fit across his chest. She remembered him in jeans, how he’d looked playing with the kids. If she was mayor of New Orleans, she’d pass a law that said he had to wear those all the time and nothing else.
He stopped in front of a row of townhouses that had obviously once been a large estate. It now continued its life of graceful historic beauty in three partitions, with the narrow dividing lines of more scenic alley nooks. “Since you know everything about me, I assume you know this is where I live.”
“It was tough, because you’ve moved around a lot. In fact, you only bought this in the past year, and negotiated a price Satan would envy. Your place in the Warehouse District is close to the office, and you stay there most times.” In fact, she thought it odd—and hopeful—he’d decided to bring her here instead, because of the two, the Garden District was more like a home.
He arched a brow at her. “Have pictures of me in the shower?”
“I tried to perch in an oak tree with my extended lens, but I’m not a great climber and didn’t want to risk damaging the equipment.”
She made an indignant noise when he swatted her ass, but she caught his quick grin as well. His hand came back to stroke, reminding them both she wore no panties beneath the skirt. Those butterflies swirled in Marcie’s stomach again, excitement and apprehension.
“If I’m staying overnight,” she ventured, “I should pick up a toothbrush or something.”
“Cass is sending an overnight bag for you via one of the K&A drivers. It’s probably already been dropped it off.” He approached the security grate that blocked the alcove of his front door and peered in. She saw the duffel as well as a garment bag hung on the outdoor light fixture. “There we go.”
“You guys are scary. Like Boy Scouts on steroids.”
“Says my stalker.” Opening the outer gate, he gestured her in underneath his arm. She let her fingers slide against his side as she did, under the pretense of the close quarters, but was surprised when he abruptly turned, lifted her up and pressed her against the shadowed wall of the alcove. Her eyes closed as his mouth took hers, his body pressing her hard against the oyster-shell stucco. Her legs wrapped around his hips instinctively, heels digging into the back of his thighs as he plundered her mouth. Digging his fingers into her hair, he tugged against her scalp mercilessly. She was gasping as he lifted his head.
“When we go through that door, you are a slave. You understand, Marcie?”
She nodded, then found her voice. “Yes sir.”
“You don’t look at me unless I tell you to do so. The second you step over that threshold, you strip. Everything. Jewelry, hairpins, rings, all of it. You leave the clothes folded neatly by the door. Then you sit down on the floor. Legs tucked underneath you, knees spread so I have access to your pussy. Fingers laced behind your head, tits thrust out. You hold that posture, and you stay silent, unless you get physically uncomfortable or I ask you a question. If you start to get uncomfortable, you ask for permission to speak.”
He waited for her nod, then let her down. Turning away, he unlocked the interior door. Once again, he held it open, gestured her to precede him. When she stepped across the threshold, he moved past her without a glance, a dismissal, as he went down the hallway into what looked like the kitchen area.
She took off skirt, bra, shirt, heels. Earrings and bracelets, the ring Cass had given her that belonged to their mother. She put those things in a small dish on the hallway tree, then folded up her clothes beside them. Unclipping her barrette, she took out the couple of pins that held back the more unruly strands, put them with the rest. Then she followed his direction, folding herself down to the polished wood floor. She laced her fingers behind her head, spread her knees, thrust out her breasts.
It was a posture that made her instantly, shamelessly wet. Unlike the obeisance pose, which was a position of humble vulnerability, this one showed pride in her surrender, fully displaying what was her Master’s. Her nipples were drawn up so that the barbells were a tingling burn in the piercings. Her clit piercing was the same.
She could see him through the opening to the kitchen, just a piece of him. He was flipping through his mail. He set something down, was reading it as he stripped off his tie, pulled open a couple buttons of his shirt. It made her mouth dry. She had no doubt he was completely aware of every move she made, yet he was also so…detached. It was heating her blood. Her pussy would be making her calves slippery in no time.
Stepping away from the table, he disappeared into another room of the house. She took the moment to look around. The floors were all hardwood, with that wonderful old wood smell. The narrow staircase probably led to a bedroom area, with a spacious window on the way up that let in afternoon sunlight. The kitchen looked modern and also full of sunlight. The house had obviously been remodeled inside, keeping the best of the old and integrating the new. It was tastefully decorated, but not female in the slightest. The walls were pale yellow with touches of bold earth-toned artwork here and there. No photos she could see.
Directly in front of her was the archway into a living area with a sectional sofa and wide-screen TV, as well as more artwork. A copper glaze vase was under a separate spotlight, obviously a gallery piece. A couple Japanese maples flanked it. Gifts from Jon, she was sure, since he said the delicate five-point leaf trees brought tranquility and blessings to a home. Cass had a few as well.
Though Ben had probably employed a decorator to reflect his tastes, the house had a good feel to it, like it was merely waiting for Ben to accept it as his home. She wondered what it would take for him to do that. He’d called the house a good investment, and the Warehouse District place was convenient to work. But this place felt like him. If he put down roots, staked his claim, this would be the place he’d do it.
And he’d brought her here.
She returned her gaze to the floor, everything within her coiling up in anticipation as his shoes tapped down the hall. She was completely naked. Naked in Ben’s home, waiting for his demands. She had that shaking thing going on, just beneath the skin, little thrills of sensation running along the insides of her thighs.
“Close your eyes. Clasp your hands at the small of your back.”
She did, and then he was touching her hair, gathering it up. He retrieved her barrette, used it to hold a flat twist on the back of her head.
“Since you have trouble obeying something as simple as not looking at me unless you have permission…”
She clutched her fingers hard as he fitted the head mask to her face. When her lashes fluttered, she found it had no eye holes, and then… She pushed down panic as he put ear plugs in those orifices before he brought the mask over them. The mask laced in the back, and he took his time, adjusting it and touching her face to ensure the opening for her nostrils was positioned properly. As he got the mask set, it constricted over her nose, cheekbones, forehead. The mouth opening was a mere slit, pressing against her lips.
When he was done with the lacing, she felt cool metal at her nape, a brief pressure, then a small weight. “I’ve inserted a small padlock in the last eyeholes of the lacing. Only I can remove this mask, Marcie.”
He was speaking right against her ear, but any other sounds were muted. He’d just blinded her, taken away most of her hearing.
Now he was putting a collar on her. As he buckled it, he tested the constriction by sliding two fingers beneath it to caress her chin. It was a serviceable collar, wide and solid. Not a formal collaring, but still. Her quivering increased. She felt a tug. A tether.
“On your feet. Follow me.”
He moved as soon as she rose, and he didn’t set a slow pace, giving her time to feel her way or figure out where they were going. He was expecting her to trust him, to follow at a normal walk. She managed it, but she couldn’t help some small flutters of panic. When he stopped, his hand touching her bare abdomen to bring her to a halt before she ran into him, she thought they were in the kitchen, but then he made a turn into a room she hadn’t yet seen. It was warm, maybe a sunroom, which meant lots of windows. Was she on display to his neighbors?
“On your knees, forehead to the floor, arms out front, wrists crossed. Ass in the air. Thighs spread.”
She obeyed. She wanted to talk, needed to speak, but it wasn’t to ask a question. She needed to interact for reassurance. Imagining this and doing it were very different. She bit down on her tongue, stayed silent. He’d gag her with the least provocation, she was sure, and she definitely wasn’t ready to lose the ability to speak.
Straps wrapped just beneath each of her knees, buckled snug so they wouldn’t slip down her calves. Then something else, something that pushed her out a little wider, made her have to rest more of her weight on her elbows and forehead. A spreader bar, one that would hold her thighs open no matter what. She could hear her rasping breath in her head. He wasn’t done yet, God help her. Cuffs around her ankles, and this time a light chain was run between them, a hobble. Moving around to her front, he cuffed her wrists together, and then she heard another chain run from them to something that anchored her there, perhaps the leg of a heavy piece of furniture, or a column in the sunroom.