13. Felicity

felicity

. . .

After the ballet was over, we met our driver outside, and Hutton listened to me gush about the music and the dancing and the costumes and the sets and how magical the whole evening had been the entire ride back to the hotel.

And on the elevator. And walking down the hall. And inside our suite, as I awkwardly waltzed across the living room. “The dancers were so graceful,” I said. “So elegant and artistic but also strong and powerful. It’s amazing how much emotion they can convey just by moving their arms a certain way. Or changing the angle of their head. They have such incredible command of every muscle in their bodies, you know?”

“Yes,” he said, and I realized I hadn’t heard his voice in like twenty minutes.

I turned around and saw him pouring a drink at the bar cart near the dining table. “Sorry! I’m talking nonstop, aren’t I?”

“I don’t mind.”

“I just loved it all so much.”

“I’m glad. Want something to drink? Whiskey or scotch?”

“No, thanks. Mostly I just want to take these heels off.”

“Leave them on.”

I was already bending down to unbuckle one ankle strap. I looked up and saw him standing there with his glass in his hand. “What?”

“Leave them on. And come over here.”

I straightened up and took one tiny step.

“On your hands and knees.”

My breath caught. I could feel his eyes on me. Instantly I understood what this was, and even though I was a little nervous, I wanted to play along. I wanted to please him this way.

The only problem was, I wasn’t entirely sure I could get to my knees in this tight dress. But I said a quick prayer and dropped to my knees on the carpet in one smooth motion. Thankfully, the dress material had some stretch, and the seams didn’t pop.

“Good girl,” he said quietly, igniting a firestorm in my blood that surprised me. “Now come here.”

My heart thrummed fast and loud as I lowered my palms to the floor and slowly closed the distance between us. I’d never done anything like this in my life— who am I right now? —but I liked the way it made me feel.

Tempting. Seductive. Alluring. I’d never thought of myself that way before, but here and now, in this tight little black dress with the red satin heels, crawling toward a gorgeous, powerful man in a suit in our Manhattan hotel suite? My billionaire fake fiancé? It was easy to imagine I wasn’t myself at all.

When I reached his feet, I sat back on my heels and looked up. Our eyes met. His lean, muscular silhouette looked imposing above me. Even that rebel lock of hair had been tamed into submission tonight.

He took another sip of his drink and set the glass on the table. Pulled the chair at the head of the table aside. Loosened the knot in his tie. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“If there’s a point tonight where you are not, you should tell me.” He slipped the tie from his collar.

I swallowed hard. “Like a safe word?”

His mouth hooked up on one side. His hand freed the top button of his shirt. “You already have a safe word?”

“No,” I said quickly. “I’ve never needed one before.”

“You do now.” He undid a second button. “So what will it be?”

Of course, I couldn’t fucking think of anything, and I panicked.

“Roy Kent,” I blurted.

He cocked his head, his hand still on his shirt. “Who’s Roy Kent?”

“Never mind. I’ll think of another one.”

Do not say Oklahoma.

Do not say bumblebee.

I racked my brain for something else. “Romeo,” I said breathlessly. “That’s what I’ll say. Romeo.”

He set his tie on the table and offered me a hand.

Placing my palm in his, I rose to my feet. “Is anything going to hurt?” I asked, picturing whips, chains, ball gags, metal cuffs and clamps, shiny rubber gloves.

“I don’t need to inflict pain to feel in control, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Okay. Should I?—”

But that was all I got out because he spun me around and clamped a hand over my mouth, pressing his body tight against my back. “Shhh. From now on, you don’t speak until I ask a question. You don’t move unless I tell you how. You don’t come until I give you permission. Nod if you understand.”

I nodded, my heart banging so hard against my ribs I was sure he could feel it on his chest. I was facing the table now —and the window. The drapes were open, and I could see our reflection in the glass. Darkness pressed close on the other side.

I watched as he loosened his hold on me and slowly unzipped my dress. It was so tight he had to pull it down my arms and over my hips until it fell to the floor in a puddle at my heels.

When I went to step out of it, he grabbed my hips. “You don’t move unless I tell you to.” His tone was low and stern. A reprimand.

I opened my mouth to apologize and caught myself.

He met my eyes in the window reflection. “Good girl. You learn quickly.”

Desire hummed beneath my skin.

He noticed what I was wearing—a black lace thong and bra—and murmured his appreciation. “You surprise me,” he said, running one finger along the lace that crested each cheek. “All night I’ve been hard thinking about what you might be wearing under that dress. But I never imagined this. I like it, especially with those shoes.” He moved closer to me again, nuzzling the back of my neck with his nose, his breath a warm whisper on my skin. “Those heels have been driving me crazy all night. I want to do such bad things to you in those heels.”

My breath was coming in short, hot bursts and I felt damp heat between my thighs. My entire body was aching for his hands, but even though he said he’d been thinking about this all night, he was being so agonizingly patient, like he might be content to torture me all night with stories about what he wanted to do to me without actually following through.

He reached for his tie and met my eyes in the glass again. “Do you want to watch me do bad things to you?”

I opened my mouth, unsure if I could speak.

“You can answer the question.”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I want to watch you do bad things to me.” I saw him smile in the glass—a slow, satisfied smirk.

He took my arms and crossed my wrists at the small of my back. Then he wound the silk tie around them. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, binding my hands and pulling the knot tight. “So sweet. So polite. Like a princess. And you smell so good.” He buried his face in the curve of my neck and inhaled, then pressed his lips to my throat.

It was a struggle not to moan as his mouth moved over my skin, his tongue warm, his lips firm. He kissed his way down one shoulder, and across my upper back, sending chills rippling over my whole body. His hands roamed over my hips, up my ribs. He slid them across my stomach and sternum, and I arched my back slightly, wanting his hands on my breasts, trying to tempt him. But he continued to torment me, putting his hands everywhere but where I wanted them most. He pressed closer to me, his erection grazing my ass.

A little whimper escaped me, and I stepped out of the dress, spreading my legs.

“No.” His tone was sharp, and he backed away from me. “That’s breaking a rule, princess.” He began to unbuckle his belt. “You don’t move unless I tell you to. But I can help you remember to obey.”

He crouched down, grabbed the ankle with the dress around it, and lifted it up. After tossing the dress aside, he placed my feet side by side and wound his leather belt around my ankles, securing it tightly. When he was satisfied I couldn’t move either my arms or my legs, he straightened up.

Locked eyes with me again in the glass.

Removed his jacket.

Unbuttoned his cuffs. Rolled up his sleeves.

Picked up his glass and took a sip of his whiskey.

Every movement was masculine and deliberate, laced with unspoken power. Nothing rushed or frantic. It was as if he was letting me know by his sheer lack of haste how he relished the tease, that the kick wasn’t just in the bad things he wanted to do to me, but in the anticipation of them. In my helplessness to stop him.

And I was as feminist as anybody, but hot damn . My legs were trembling. My panties were wet. My nipples poked at the lace of my bra, hard and tingling. It wasn’t just being at his mercy that had me turned on, it was the way his eyes traveled over my body, like his desire was almost unbearable.

He set his glass down and pressed up behind me again, locking one forearm across my chest and sliding the other hand into my underwear. He rubbed my clit with slow, firm pressure so it swelled beneath his touch, then dipped his fingers inside me. “You’re wet already.”

“Yes,” I whimpered.

He pinched my nipple, hard. “That wasn’t a question. But since you’re having such a hard time staying quiet, I’ll give you permission to speak. Do you want to watch me make you come?”

I nodded, afraid that if I said something wrong, he’d stop touching me. I couldn’t take my eyes off our reflection.

“Say it,” he demanded.

“I want to watch you make me come,” I panted.

He pulled his fingers from me and brought them to his mouth. “The taste of you. That’s another thing that drives me crazy. I can’t stop thinking about it.” His hand edged beneath the lace again. “I want it all the time.”

He held me tightly against his body. At the small of my back, I felt his cock against my palm as he worked his fingers over my clit. I squirmed and writhed over his hand, frustrated at not being able to move freely. I tried to rub his hard length through his pants, hoping to get him worked up, but his arm around me kept my upper body completely immobile. Pretty soon it didn’t even matter that I couldn’t move—his fingers moved over my clit with the perfect rhythm, the ideal pace, the most sublime pressure. I was hot and sweaty and desperate, frantic little noises escaping my throat, so close, so agonizingly close?—

And he slowed down, easing me back from the brink.

My eyes opened—I hadn’t even realized they’d closed—and I caught his knowing smile in the glass. “Not yet,” he said.

He did that two more times, taking me all the way to the edge, then cruelly yanking me away from it, seeming to enjoy it more every time. I understood then that he didn’t have to inflict pain to enjoy control—all he had to do was deny pleasure. I’d never even thought about it before. And at that point, I’d have begged him to hurt me if it meant relief from the tension.

Somehow he seemed to know I was at the breaking point, and the next time I got close, he let me finish. “Don’t close your eyes,” he warned. “Watch.”

I did as he asked, keeping my eyes on our reflection, watching his hand move between my thighs, my cries bouncing off the walls, my leg muscles growing hot and tight, my bones threatening to buckle as the climax shook me.

Finally, I went limp in his arms. “You’re perfect,” he said, his voice low in my ear. “You’re fucking perfect.” He kissed my throat, my shoulder, and the back of my neck, before easing my upper body forward so my chest and cheek rested on the cool wooden tabletop. “Yes,” he said, running his hand down my spine. “I want you just like this.”

He picked up his glass.

The next thing I felt was cool liquid being dripped onto my back, all along my spine from the base of my neck to my tailbone. The smoky sweet scent filled my head as he leaned over and licked the whiskey off my skin. I shivered, and he laughed. Then he popped open the clasp on my bra and poured more whiskey across my shoulder blades. This time, instead of licking it up, he put his hand in it and rubbed the liquid all over my skin.

“Such bad things,” he said, his voice somewhere between a growl and a whisper.

He pulled the black lace thong down my legs and picked up his glass. A moment later, what I assumed was some very expensive whiskey was drizzled over my ass, running down my thighs, and seeping into places that I’d never imagined pricey booze might seep.

“Fuck yes.” Hutton dropped to his knees behind me, his palms on my ass as he licked his way up the backs of my legs, sliding his tongue between my thighs, stroking me from behind. He slipped one hand into the tight, wet space between my legs, rubbing my sensitive clit with the side of his forefinger.

I moaned as he teased and sucked and licked and fucked me with his fingers. No sooner had the throes of the previous orgasm faded than he had me spiraling upward again. My body demanded more. Finally I gave up and begged.

“Hutton,” I pleaded. “I want to feel you inside me.”

“I want that too, princess.” He pushed his fingers deeper inside me. “I want my cock right here. I want to make you come again. But this is a game about patience. About control. We can’t just give in to every urge we feel.”

“Romeo,” I panted. “Now can we give in?”

He laughed. “It doesn’t work like that. It’s a safe word, not a password.”

“But I want you so badly.” My body was burning up for him. I felt like heat and desire were emanating from my skin. “I’ve never wanted anyone this way. I have no control.”

“You don’t have to have control.” He took his fingers from me, kissed the back of each leg, and rose to his feet. “You have to surrender it. That’s what I like.”

I moaned, squirming on the dining room table as he took another sip of his whiskey. “Surrender is harder than I thought.”

“I know it is.” He set the glass down. “But you’re doing so well, princess. You’re such a good girl, and I’m going to give you what you want.”

“You are?” I grew excited as I heard the zipper of his dress pants being lowered. I couldn’t see, but I imagined him pulling out his cock, stroking it with his fist like he had in the bathtub.

“Yes,” he said. “But you have to tell me what that is.”

“I want you to fuck me,” I said without hesitation.

He laughed again. “What happened to my sweet princess? Where are her manners?”

“I want you to fuck me, please?” I tried.

“That’s better.” He rubbed the tip of his cock between my thighs, damp with whiskey and desire. Both of us moaned as he pushed inside me, every hot, thick inch stretching and filling me until his hips met my ass. Placing his hands on my hips, he pulled back and did it again, and again, and again. “Fuck,” he growled. “It’s so tight. So hot. And you look so fucking good.”

It was tight—having my ankles bound together with his belt kept my legs pressed firmly together. And the way I was bent forward over the table meant he could go in deep. As he moved faster, he moved rougher, and I began to exhale sharply every time he hit the furthest spot.

Suddenly he yanked me back from the table, but only enough to reach one hand around and rub my clit with his fingertips, keeping his cock buried deep just like I wanted. “Come for me,” he demanded. “Come right now, on my cock. On my fingers. Let me feel it. Then I’ll come for you.”

“Yes!” I cried out as the waves crashed through me, relentless and powerful, loud and unceasing, my body completely at the mercy of his touch and his rhythm and his words and his massive, throbbing cock that I wanted to feel pulsing inside me.

But instead, he pulled out. I was so shocked I picked up my head from the table and looked at our reflection in the window. That’s how I was able to watch as he grabbed his cock and got himself off as he stood over me, coming all over my back in hot, silken streams, grunting with every savage thrust through his fist.

My mouth fell open and stayed that way, even after I placed my cheek back on the table. “Oh my God,” I whispered. “That was—oh my God.”

Breathing hard, Hutton propped his hands on the table beside my waist. “I didn’t have a condom. That’s why I did it that way. Although truth be told, that’s what I wanted to do to you.”

“I liked it.”

He leaned down and kissed my temple. “I’ll clean you up. Give me a second to grab a towel.”

“Okay, but Hutton?”

“Yes?”

“Can you take my shoes off? My feet are killing me.”

Without a word, he dropped down, unstrapped his belt from my ankles, and removed each shoe.

“Thank you.” I breathed a sigh of relief to be standing in bare feet on the carpet.

He pulled my underwear up, then undid the knot in his tie and pulled it free from my wrists. “There. But don’t move too much. You’re a little messy.”

I braced myself on my elbows and smiled at him over one shoulder. “It’s okay.”

He went into the master bedroom and returned a minute later with a warm washcloth, which he used to gently wipe off my back. “You might still be a little sticky. And I also got some, uh, stuff in your hair. Want to take a shower or something?”

“Maybe.” I straightened up, my muscles already sore and stiff. I rubbed one shoulder. “Actually yes, that might feel good.”

“Let me run it for you.”

I smiled. “You don’t have to do that. You didn’t break me.”

“It’s not an apology.” He kissed my forehead. “I just like doing things for you.”

Not only did he run the shower for me, he undressed and got in with me, then insisted on washing my hair, applying the conditioner and waiting exactly two minutes before rinsing it off, and soaping me up with the hotel body wash.

He rubbed his hands together to make suds and sniffed them. “It’s nice, but it’s not as good as yours.”

“I brought some lotion in the scent you like,” I told him. “I’ll put it on before bed.”

After we got out, he dried me off with a giant fluffy towel and brought me one of the plush white robes. I combed out my hair while he put on some pajama pants, then he came into the bathroom and wrapped his arms around me from behind. His hair was wet and wavy, messy in the front like it usually was. As gorgeous and sexy as he was all put together in a suit and tie, there was something so familiar and cozy about this Hutton. He made my heart pound just as hard.

“Come here,” he said, tugging me out to the living room. “I have a surprise for you.”

“You do?” I let him lead me over to the couch. A room service tray sat on the coffee table, a silver cloche over the plate.

Hutton pulled it off. “Tada! Warm chocolate cake with raspberry creamsicle ice cream.”

I squealed with delight and jumped up and down. “You made a phone call!”

“I made a phone call.”

“How did you get it up here so fast?”

He shrugged. “I paid a little extra.”

“It looks so good, I bet it’s worth it.”

“Your reaction is worth it.”

I smiled at him. “You’re spoiling me way too much on this trip. I’m going to be terrible to live with. You’ll be glad you’re going back to California.”

He laughed. “Sit down.”

I sat on one end of the couch and Hutton handed me the plate and fork. Then he swung my feet onto the other end and sat down, placing them in his lap. “What’s this?” I asked as he took one foot in his hand and began to rub it.

“It’s a combination of dessert and foot massage.”

Was he serious? Simultaneous dessert and foot rub?

How was I supposed to ration my feelings whilst eating warm cake and enjoying his strong, sexy hands on me? He was making it impossible to hold back the tide.

I stuck a bite in my mouth and groaned as Hutton’s thumbs pressed into my sore arches. “God, this is insane. I might have another orgasm.”

He chuckled. “That would be okay too.”