Release Me
Page 38
“I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. It’s none of my business.”
“No, it’s not.” Again, that pregnant silence. And then one sharp curse. “Dammit, Nikki. I’m the one who’s sorry. Of course you’ll hear rumors. Of course you have a right to ask questions. Considering what I’m asking, you can ask all the questions you want.”
“You’re really not mad?”
“At you, no. At Padgett—well, let’s just say he’s on my list.”
I decide not to ask what list that might be.
“I hope you’re still considering my offer,” he says. “I very much want for you to say yes. I’m hoping it won’t take too much longer for you to reach a decision.”
“I’ve already decided,” I blurt.
He’s silent for so long, I think he hasn’t heard me.
“Tell me,” he finally says.
I swallow and nod, even though of course he can’t see me. “I have conditions.”
“So we’re negotiating. Excellent. What are your terms, Ms. Fairchild?”
I’ve rehearsed this in my mind and my words spill out like a thesis presentation. “First of all, you need to understand that I’m doing this for the money. I need it, I can use it, I want it. So please keep that in mind. Your million dollars color all of my terms.”
“I understand.”
“I get paid no matter what, even if you end up not liking the painting.”
“Certainly. The money is your fee. It has nothing to do with my satisfaction with the painting.”
“You can’t sell it. Not to anyone. It’s either yours, or it’s destroyed.”
“So far your terms are satisfactory.”
I pause and draw a breath because we’re getting to the key points. “The artist has to paint me. Me. Not some artistic representation of me, but the real me.”
“You are what I want, Nikki,” he says, with the same tone of voice he’d used when he’d put his fingers inside me. Tell me you like this.
Yes. God, yes.
I cross and uncross my legs as I sit on the side of the bed. “Just making sure we understand each other, Mr. Stark. Once I take my clothes off, that’s it. What you see is what you get.”
“Be careful, Ms. Fairchild. You’re making me hard.”
“Dammit, Stark, I’m serious.”
“Oh, I’m serious, too. Believe me.”
I mutter a soft curse and hear him chuckle on the other end. “So we agree?” I ask, probably too sharply.
“To your terms? Absolutely. Of course, I have a few deal points of my own to address.”
“Deal points?”
“Certainly. You’ve changed the original terms with a counteroffer. It’s my privilege to do the same.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t thought he’d change the original deal, but I realize now I should have.
“And let me be just as clear as you were, Ms. Fairchild. This is no longer a negotiation. These are my final terms. You agree, or you don’t.”
“Um, okay.” I lick my lips and squirm some more. I’m suddenly very interested in what he has to say. “So what are the terms?”
“From now until the painting is completed, you’re mine.”
“Yours?” The word tastes like chocolate in my mouth.
“What exactly does that mean?”
“What do you think it means?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I try again. “That I belong to you.” My voice is a whisper. Hell, it’s a prayer, and I’m surprised by how turned on I am by his words. I mean, I’d moved to LA to take control of my life, but here I am getting hot at the idea of putting myself in Damien’s hands.
“What else?” he asks.
“That I do as you say.” I slip my hand down between my legs and into my shorts. I’m wet, slick, and hot.
“Yes,” Damien says. His voice is hard, tense. He’s on edge, too, and that knowledge makes me even more turned on.
“And if I don’t?”
“You studied science, Ms. Fairchild. Surely you’re aware that every action has an equal and opposite reaction.”
“Oh.” I slide my finger over my sensitive clit, then gasp, not expecting the fast, hard tremor that shoots through me in release.
“You like that, Ms. Fairchild?” he asks.
My cheeks flame. I’m not sure if he means his terms or my orgasm. I draw myself up. “What if I don’t agree?”
“Then I don’t get my painting, and you don’t get your million.”
“Why make me agree? I’ve already said I’ll pose.”
“Because I can. Because I want you. Because I don’t want to court my way up to our first fuck. And because I don’t want to play games.”
“Isn’t a game exactly what you’re playing?”
“A fair point, Ms. Fairchild. But I want this on my terms.”
“You say you want me, but you don’t. You say you want my portrait, but you won’t.”
For a moment, I hear nothing. Damien Stark is trying to figure out my angle. “You’re wrong,” he finally says.
“I don’t think so. And that’s why my terms are important. You call it off—the painting, this game—and I still get my money.”
“Is that an agreement?”
“It’s a condition.”
“Very well. I accept your condition.”
“And we don’t start now. We start at the first session with the artist.”
“You’re a tough negotiator, Ms. Fairchild. But I accept your proposed commencement date.”
I roll my eyes. He’s getting weary of my tweaks to his deal. Well, too bad. “And it’s not open-ended,” I add. “For all I know, you’re paying the artist by the hour, and he’ll take a year to complete it. One week, Mr. Stark.”
“One week?” He doesn’t sound happy.
“That’s my best offer. And, of course, you’ll have to work around my day job. But my evenings and the weekend are yours.”
“Very well. One week. Now, do we have a deal?”
I want to say yes. Instead, I say, “What—what exactly do you want to do with me?”
“So many things, but mostly I want to fuck you. Hard and fast and very thoroughly.”
Oh my.
“I—will it be kinky?”
He chuckles. “Would you like it to be?”
I don’t know. “I’m not—I mean, I haven’t ever.” I feel my cheeks start to burn furiously. I’ve been out on a horrible number of first dates, courtesy of my mother, but have had only two real boyfriends. The first was more experienced than I was, and by that I mean that he’d dated a college girl even though we were in high school. But unless a fast fuck on top of his parents’ pool table counts, there was nothing remotely kinky about our relationship. As for the second, there was definitely pain with Kurt, but only the emotional kind.
All in all, the types of things Damien might be talking about are outside my realm of experience.
Stark seems to understand my hesitation. “I want to give you pleasure,” he says. “That’s all I want to do. Will we do things that are kinky? You may think so. But I also think you’ll like it.”
“No, it’s not.” Again, that pregnant silence. And then one sharp curse. “Dammit, Nikki. I’m the one who’s sorry. Of course you’ll hear rumors. Of course you have a right to ask questions. Considering what I’m asking, you can ask all the questions you want.”
“You’re really not mad?”
“At you, no. At Padgett—well, let’s just say he’s on my list.”
I decide not to ask what list that might be.
“I hope you’re still considering my offer,” he says. “I very much want for you to say yes. I’m hoping it won’t take too much longer for you to reach a decision.”
“I’ve already decided,” I blurt.
He’s silent for so long, I think he hasn’t heard me.
“Tell me,” he finally says.
I swallow and nod, even though of course he can’t see me. “I have conditions.”
“So we’re negotiating. Excellent. What are your terms, Ms. Fairchild?”
I’ve rehearsed this in my mind and my words spill out like a thesis presentation. “First of all, you need to understand that I’m doing this for the money. I need it, I can use it, I want it. So please keep that in mind. Your million dollars color all of my terms.”
“I understand.”
“I get paid no matter what, even if you end up not liking the painting.”
“Certainly. The money is your fee. It has nothing to do with my satisfaction with the painting.”
“You can’t sell it. Not to anyone. It’s either yours, or it’s destroyed.”
“So far your terms are satisfactory.”
I pause and draw a breath because we’re getting to the key points. “The artist has to paint me. Me. Not some artistic representation of me, but the real me.”
“You are what I want, Nikki,” he says, with the same tone of voice he’d used when he’d put his fingers inside me. Tell me you like this.
Yes. God, yes.
I cross and uncross my legs as I sit on the side of the bed. “Just making sure we understand each other, Mr. Stark. Once I take my clothes off, that’s it. What you see is what you get.”
“Be careful, Ms. Fairchild. You’re making me hard.”
“Dammit, Stark, I’m serious.”
“Oh, I’m serious, too. Believe me.”
I mutter a soft curse and hear him chuckle on the other end. “So we agree?” I ask, probably too sharply.
“To your terms? Absolutely. Of course, I have a few deal points of my own to address.”
“Deal points?”
“Certainly. You’ve changed the original terms with a counteroffer. It’s my privilege to do the same.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t thought he’d change the original deal, but I realize now I should have.
“And let me be just as clear as you were, Ms. Fairchild. This is no longer a negotiation. These are my final terms. You agree, or you don’t.”
“Um, okay.” I lick my lips and squirm some more. I’m suddenly very interested in what he has to say. “So what are the terms?”
“From now until the painting is completed, you’re mine.”
“Yours?” The word tastes like chocolate in my mouth.
“What exactly does that mean?”
“What do you think it means?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I try again. “That I belong to you.” My voice is a whisper. Hell, it’s a prayer, and I’m surprised by how turned on I am by his words. I mean, I’d moved to LA to take control of my life, but here I am getting hot at the idea of putting myself in Damien’s hands.
“What else?” he asks.
“That I do as you say.” I slip my hand down between my legs and into my shorts. I’m wet, slick, and hot.
“Yes,” Damien says. His voice is hard, tense. He’s on edge, too, and that knowledge makes me even more turned on.
“And if I don’t?”
“You studied science, Ms. Fairchild. Surely you’re aware that every action has an equal and opposite reaction.”
“Oh.” I slide my finger over my sensitive clit, then gasp, not expecting the fast, hard tremor that shoots through me in release.
“You like that, Ms. Fairchild?” he asks.
My cheeks flame. I’m not sure if he means his terms or my orgasm. I draw myself up. “What if I don’t agree?”
“Then I don’t get my painting, and you don’t get your million.”
“Why make me agree? I’ve already said I’ll pose.”
“Because I can. Because I want you. Because I don’t want to court my way up to our first fuck. And because I don’t want to play games.”
“Isn’t a game exactly what you’re playing?”
“A fair point, Ms. Fairchild. But I want this on my terms.”
“You say you want me, but you don’t. You say you want my portrait, but you won’t.”
For a moment, I hear nothing. Damien Stark is trying to figure out my angle. “You’re wrong,” he finally says.
“I don’t think so. And that’s why my terms are important. You call it off—the painting, this game—and I still get my money.”
“Is that an agreement?”
“It’s a condition.”
“Very well. I accept your condition.”
“And we don’t start now. We start at the first session with the artist.”
“You’re a tough negotiator, Ms. Fairchild. But I accept your proposed commencement date.”
I roll my eyes. He’s getting weary of my tweaks to his deal. Well, too bad. “And it’s not open-ended,” I add. “For all I know, you’re paying the artist by the hour, and he’ll take a year to complete it. One week, Mr. Stark.”
“One week?” He doesn’t sound happy.
“That’s my best offer. And, of course, you’ll have to work around my day job. But my evenings and the weekend are yours.”
“Very well. One week. Now, do we have a deal?”
I want to say yes. Instead, I say, “What—what exactly do you want to do with me?”
“So many things, but mostly I want to fuck you. Hard and fast and very thoroughly.”
Oh my.
“I—will it be kinky?”
He chuckles. “Would you like it to be?”
I don’t know. “I’m not—I mean, I haven’t ever.” I feel my cheeks start to burn furiously. I’ve been out on a horrible number of first dates, courtesy of my mother, but have had only two real boyfriends. The first was more experienced than I was, and by that I mean that he’d dated a college girl even though we were in high school. But unless a fast fuck on top of his parents’ pool table counts, there was nothing remotely kinky about our relationship. As for the second, there was definitely pain with Kurt, but only the emotional kind.
All in all, the types of things Damien might be talking about are outside my realm of experience.
Stark seems to understand my hesitation. “I want to give you pleasure,” he says. “That’s all I want to do. Will we do things that are kinky? You may think so. But I also think you’ll like it.”
