A Firm Hand: 2 (Bound to You) (18 page)

“Well, I hope he does right by you. If he doesn’t, we’ll watch loads of those scary films you like so we can plan how we’ll off him. Bloodily and painfully with lots of agony and torment. Hopefully that won’t be necessary. I would hate to get sacked for murdering my boss for his stupidity.”

Gen couldn’t help but grin. “Stupidity?”

“Stupid, dumb, thick, call it what you like. If he doesn’t fall for you he’s stupid and I’m not sure I want you with someone like that. I have to say, judging by the way he looks at you when he thinks no one’s watching, I think he’s half in love with you already.”

“Ivy—”

“Fine.”

“Thank you.”

“I think all that kinky sex has mucked up your brain. Not that I blame you. I’d drop my knickers in a heartbeat for a man who knew how to properly use a cane and make me come so hard I’d forget my own name. But enough about that.” She grabbed her soda, plopped down on the couch and picked up the remote. “Sexy hunters sound good to you? The
Supernatural
series is on all day today.”

“I’m always up for Dean Winchester.”

“What is it about the naughty ones we like so much?”

“I wish I knew.”

* * * * *

Brian had intended to have a nice relaxing evening with Genevieve. Pizza from a local place she liked with all her favorite toppings. A horror movie he was sure she enjoyed. But rather than cozying up next to him on the leather sectional in his den, she sat on the ottoman as far away from him as possible. Her posture was stiff and she looked guarded and wary as she picked at a frayed hole on the thigh of her jeans.

“Is there a problem?” he asked.

“Not really. It’s just that we don’t do this kind of thing.”

“And what kind of thing would that be?”

“You know, normal non-kinky stuff.”

“I thought we’d do something you enjoy for once.”

The corner of her mouth turned down. “How did you know what to order on my pizza and that this is one of my favorite movies? You’ve never asked and I’d have remembered telling you.”

“I’m very observant.”

Skepticism flashed in her keen brown eyes.

“You can tell quite a bit about someone if you pay attention.”

“Like what?”

“Judging by your perpetually empty fridge, and the sheer amount of takeout containers and pizza delivery receipts scattered around your kitchen, I’d say you’re not much of a cook.”

“Point for you. I’m a sucky cook. What else?”

“I’m pretty sure your favorite color is red. There’s enough of it in your apartment for that assumption and this is the longest you’ve gone without changing the color of your hair.”

“Right again. Anything else, Sherlock?” She challenged him with a quirk of her brow, clever girl.

“I also know you like horror movies. Your walls are covered in posters,
Shaun of the Dead
being one of them. You also own two of the t-shirts, which you wear often. I happen to like that one so I thought it would be a good choice for tonight.”

“You like
Shaun of the Dead
?”

“Is it really that hard to believe? I do have a sense of humor, you know.”

She smirked.

“What?”

“It’s just that I haven’t seen much evidence of this so-called sense of humor.”

Sarcastic little imp. On impulse, he chucked a garlic roll in her direction. It hit her square in the chest then tumbled to the floor.

She stared at him in shock. “You just threw food at me.”

“Your powers of observation are astounding.”

She sucked in a quick breath, picked up the roll and sent it sailing at his head. He ducked just in time to hear it hit the wall behind the sofa with a greasy splat. Without hesitation he leaped and tackled her to the floor. She squealed as he wrestled her onto her back and pinned her down.

“I do have a sense of humor.” He stared down at her. The feel of her struggling beneath him while her eyes glinted with amusement was enough to make him hard.

“I hate to tell you this, but throwing food amounts to bad manners, not a sense of humor.”

“I’m going to make you pay for that.”

“I hope so.”

He trapped her wrists in one hand, leaving the other free to torment her. He began at her left side. Just a light tickle.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Showing you my humorous side.”

“No, no, no.” Panic flashed across her face. “I’m sorry, Sir. I take it back. You’re hysterical. Funny. Great sense of humor.”

“Not good enough.” He tickled her harder.

She burst into giggles and squirmed under him. “Brian, stop.”

He traveled up to her armpit and let her have it. “Oh no, I’m enjoying this far too much.”

Gasping and laughing, she tried in vain to buck him off. “Brian, please!”

“Are you quitting?”

“No,” she sobbed between peals of hysterical laughter.

“I want you to say that I am the funniest, most intelligent, skilled and attractive Master you’ve ever had the pleasure of serving.”

“Master?” She was really laughing now.

“Yes. Master. Now say it or I’ll tickle you until you wet yourself.” He eased off, waiting for her to comply.

She took huge, gulping breaths, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “Oh I don’t know. I don’t think I can call you Master with a straight face.”

He ran his hand over her breast, giving her nipple a gentle flick with his thumb. She froze. Caressing the flat of her belly, he made his way to the waist of her jeans. He took his time with the button, holding her gaze. She let out a short breath as he lowered her zipper. He slipped his hand over her panties, cupping her mound. With his middle finger, he rubbed light circles over her clit. It didn’t take more than a few seconds before the silk between them dampened. He loved that she was so responsive to his touch. He played with her slowly, enjoying the little sounds she made. He could make her come in seconds, but he wouldn’t. Not yet.

“Do I know how to master you?” He added the barest hint of malice to his tone.

“Yes,” she hissed.

He edged her closer and closer to climax, but held back just enough to keep her from falling over.

“So say it.”

“Yes Sir.” She gasped as he strummed her clit with light, steady flicks of his finger. “You are the funniest, most intelligent, skilled and attractive Master I’ve
ever
had the pleasure of serving.”

“Good girl,” he whispered.

“Please?”

“Please what?”

“Please make me come?”

“Since you asked so nicely.”

He plucked the nub a little harder and studied her as she came—the tiny crinkle between her brows, the way she sank her teeth into her lower lip, that sexy rasp her voice took on as she cried out with pleasure—he would never tire of it. Her breathing slowed and he reluctantly pulled his hand away.

She stayed still for a moment and simply looked up at him. The sparkle in her eyes made it seem as if she thought earning an orgasm made her the victor of their little battle. That was fine. She could have her moment. He would have his later.

He rose to his feet, stopping briefly to make adjustments for his raging hard-on. “Come on, lazy girl. The pizza is getting cold and unlike you, I’d rather not eat it that way.”

“I see your game now,” she murmured as he helped her up. “Tickle me into submission.”

“Whatever keeps you in line. Do you have everything you need for the trip this weekend?”

“Yes, thank you. Chris was a huge help.”

“That he is.” He sat and helped himself to a slice of bacon and pineapple pizza. “I wanted to let you know that we’ll be attending a private party after
Cadeau
.”

Her eyebrows went up at that. “By private do you mean kinky?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No. I was just curious.”

“Jared Kingsley, an old friend of mine, is hosting. Only a handful of people will be there and all of them close friends. Nothing too outlandish or depraved, but you can expect some form of play to be involved.” He hadn’t taken her anywhere public during their time together. Things had grown almost claustrophobic. It was past time they ventured out of their insulated world. Why then did it feel like a mistake?

They ate in silence, Genevieve stealing glances at him every so often. He had the feeling she wanted to ask him something.

“Out with it.”

“What?” she asked.

“Is there something you want to say?”

“I was just thinking. You know all this stuff about me and I don’t know much at all about you.”

“Where is this coming from?”

“I don’t know. You could tell all those things about me just from visiting my apartment. I look around here and your house tells me nothing other than the fact that you’re filthy rich and possibly related to Patrick Bateman.”

“Patrick Bateman? I’m not quite that materialistic or psychotic.”

“Big points for catching the
American Psycho
reference.”

“Thank you. I try,” he said dryly. “What you’re really saying is that my house is boring and lacks personality?”

“It sounds bad when you say it like that, but yeah. Take this room for instance—black leather sectional, glass coffee table, an obscenely large television. There’s no color. No pictures. Nothing personal. It’s nice, don’t get me wrong. It just says nothing about the person who lives here. The whole house is like that with the one exception being your bedroom and even that doesn’t tell me a lot.”

“So what, you want to know what my favorite color is?”

She shrugged sheepishly. “Well, yeah.”

He smiled at her brief moment of vulnerability. He liked this side of her. Over the last few weeks she’d really opened up to him, allowing him to see the girl behind all that sarcasm and hostility. She’d grown in her submission in ways that constantly surprised him. She knew when to challenge him and when to obey. The grace with which she accepted pain never ceased to amaze him. He never pushed her past her breaking point, but then she’d stopped trying to push him past his. Together they’d found a rhythm, a precarious one given the way he’d bent the rules for her, but a rhythm just the same.

“Don’t shrug. If you want to ask me something, ask. You don’t have to be so self-conscious about it.”

“I’m not—”

He gave her a flat look.

She set her pizza down and blew out a breath. “Okay. Brian, what is your favorite color? What movies and TV shows do you like? Do you even watch television?”

“Of course I watch it. And my favorite color is rattan red.”

“Rattan red?”

“Yes, that amazing color your ass gets after I’ve used the cane.”