My phone lights up with another message and I look down to check it while I continue my sensuous dance.
Jesus Christ, Ruby. You’re killing me here.
Finally, I smile as I drop both arms and let the bra fall, catching it before it hits the floor. I dangle it from one finger, twirling it once, twice, before I toss it over my shoulder, where it lands somewhere in a corner of my office.
The cool air makes my nipples harden instantly, and I feel strangely powerful standing here, bared to the night and to her hidden gaze.
You’re beautiful. Don’t forget the rest. I want to imagine my mouth on your pussy.
Fuck.A flash of arousal shoots between my thighs as I read it, and now it’s all I can think of. She really knows how to push my buttons, and I can almost hear the husky quality her voice would have if she were speaking the words. There’s something thrilling about knowing she can see me while I can’t see her. About knowing I’m affecting her, that she’s sitting in her car, watching me, wanting me.
I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my panties and turn to the side, giving her a profile view as I slowly—torturously slowly—ease them down over my hips, past my thighs, letting them drop to my ankles. I step out of them and kick them away, turning to face the window again, completely naked now. I stand there, allowing her to look.
Good girl, she writes, making me chuckle.Bring your chair to the French doors and sit down.I pause, wondering if this is a test. Is she seeing how far I’ll go for her? How much control I’m willing to surrender? I’ve spent my entire professional life being in charge, and here I am, naked andfollowing orders. The strangest part is how much I’m enjoying it.
I wheel my leather office chair across the room and position it directly in front of the French doors, in full view of her car, and lower myself into it. Then I cross my legs, rest my forearms on the chair arms, and lean back with an outward show of composure that belies the chaos inside me.
Another message from her.Spread your legs for me.
I hesitate, my eyes fixed on her car.
Do it, her next message reads.
My heart races as I slowly uncross my legs. I pause, knees still pressed together, then gradually part them, feeling the cool air of the room against my most intimate places. This game is both absurdly uncomfortable and incredibly sexy. I’m wet and throbbing, wondering what she’ll ask of me next. My phone remains silent for what feels like an eternity, leaving me suspended in this moment of exposure and anticipation. She’s doing this on purpose; making me wait.
I realize I’m breathing faster now, my chest rising and falling in a rhythm that matches my racing pulse. I’m simultaneously powerless and in complete control, able to end this at any moment but unwilling to break the spell she’s cast over me.
Good girl,she writes again, and the praise feels like a physical caress.I can’t wait to taste that pretty pussy.
My eyes flutter closed for a beat as fantasies flash before me. Her tongue against my sex. Her face between my thighs. Is she even aware of the effect she has on me? How my body responds to her in ways I never imagined possible?
Breathless and in desperate need of release, I lower a hand between my legs, but immediately, my phone buzzes.
Don’t. Don’t touch yourself.
I frown.What the fuck?She can’t bring me to this point then leave me hanging. I pick up my phone and reply.Are you serious?
Yes. Come to the club after midnight. I’ll make it worth your wait.
Her headlights spring on, her gates open, and she drives off, leaving me frustrated and alone. I stand and stare after her while my body thrums with unresolved tension. This game of hers—command and denial, promise and retreat—is simultaneously infuriating and intoxicating. Am I really going to obey? It’s not like she’d know, right? I glance at my watch: two and a half hours until midnight. Two and a half hours to decide if I’ll follow her rules or break them. But even as I consider defiance, I know I’ll obey. And I’ll be at that club when the clock strikes twelve against every last shred of my better judgment.
TWENTY-EIGHT
ATHENA
The air thrums with a low, insistent beat as I pull Ruby through the heavy velvet curtains. She’s dressed in a red cocktail dress that clings to her curves, accentuating the slender lines of her body. Her auburn hair is pulled back, sleek and gleaming, drawing attention to her striking eyes.
“That was quite the show you put on earlier,” I say, holding her gaze as I hand her a tumbler of whiskey. “Thank you.”
She blushes as she takes the drink.
Several women approach us as we move through the lounge—Donna with her signature martini, Dr. Chen with a diet Coke, and Mari with a Scotch in hand. We greet them politely, but talking to others is the last thing on our minds. My body hums with anticipation, with a need that I haven’t felt in years. Our hands brush as we navigate the crowd, and even that slight contact sends sparks racing up my arm.
I’ve limited myself to a kiss on her cheek when she arrived, my lips lingering a beat too long against her skin, inhaling her scent. Not a real kiss yet. That comes later, when it’s part of the game. It’s safer that way—desirecontained within boundaries, pleasure without the dangerous intimacy of natural affection.
I glance at her again as we enter the playroom. She knew exactly where we were going. No discussion was needed, no questions asked. An unspoken agreement formed between us the moment she walked through that door tonight, perhaps even earlier, during her window performance. We’ve been circling each other like planets caught in each other’s gravity, and tonight our paths are finally aligned.
The walls in this room are lined with mirrors, reflecting endless repetitions of the space. I love watching my submissives see themselves come undone, forced to witness their own surrender as I guide them toward release. Handcuffs hang down from the ceiling and there’s another set of cuffs attached to the back wall. The only furniture in here is a leather armchair and a chest of drawers filled with brand-new toys.
