Accidental Slave (15 page)

She pushed his shirt from his shoulders and nestled her cheek against his chest. He was nearly shaking with repressed desire. He wanted to fuck her. Instead he stroked her hair and back, trying not to imagine how a black leather flogger would look, its tresses raining against her white, soft flesh…

“Make love to me,” she whispered, lifting her face toward him.

He pushed himself from the bed, only long enough to shuck his jeans and underwear. He saw her eyes fall to his groin and he grinned, hoping she liked what she saw. She sat up and slipped her sandals from her pretty feet, letting them fall to the ground. While he watched, she reached behind her, unzipping the dress and pulling it over her head.

As with her evening gown, she wore no bra. This time he had the right to gaze at those perfect orbs and he greedily devoured them with his eyes, his mouth actually watering in anticipation of biting and sucking the stiffening nipples at their centers. How glad he was she hadn't turned out to be just a casual play toy purchased for a few hours of meaningless fun. How lucky he was the twisted fates had somehow brought her into his life.

She lay back against the bed, her dark hair in a swirl on the pillows, her very blue eyes shining toward him. Hurriedly he opened the drawer in the chest beside his bed and grabbed a condom.

He rolled it into place and lay down beside her, cupping her crotch. The little panties were soaking wet, which pleased him. On an impulse he slipped his fingers beneath the fabric, gripped the other side with his thumb and pulled.

Elizabeth gasped as the flimsy fabric tore away. He reached instinctively for her throat, recalling her strong, visceral reaction the day before to the primeval gesture of dominance.

A series of shudders racked her body, almost orgasmic in nature, as he gently tightened his grip around her long, slender neck. With his other hand he pressed her open, exploring the hot, velvet clasp of her tunnel.

She lifted her arms of her own accord above her head, the gesture submissive and, to Cole, deeply erotic. “Jesus, I want you,” he murmured, still holding himself in check, though barely.

He rose over her, loving the feel of her soft breasts crushing beneath his chest, the nipples rising to meet him. He moved between her thighs, positioning himself, the head of his cock nudging at the entrance, gauging her readiness.

Carefully he pushed forward and she took him in, tight muscles clenching along his shaft, the pressure nearly unbearably sweet. She was trembling beneath him, her eyes closed, her breathing rapid, her cheeks flushed. He groaned, reaching for her wrists, pulling her arms taut and pinning them to the bed, his body pinning hers beneath his. He could feel her heart pattering too fast against him.

Tenderness for a moment overtook his lust and he leaned down, kissing her face—her eyelids, her cheeks, her lips. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m going to make love you, beautiful girl. You belong to me.”

She opened her eyes, nodding. “Yes,” she said breathlessly. She tested his grip on her wrists and he knew she didn’t want to be released. He tightened his grip and she moaned, arching her hips up to take him deeper.

He began to move inside her, reveling in her tight, wet embrace. He wanted her so much—

too much. “God,” he groaned. “I’m sorry. I can’t…it’s just too good. Oh.” Shit, he couldn’t help it. All the pent-up longing he’d held so tightly within himself since the moment he’d seen her swaying on the dais, and then laid bare and sleeping in his guest bed, spilled over in an orgasm more worthy of a teenager than a grown man.

He lay still on top of her for a few seconds trying to recover himself. His fingers, he realized, were still tight around her slender wrists, pulled high over her head. He let them go and she wrapped her arms around him.

He grunted an embarrassed laugh. “I’m really sorry. That just came over me so fast.”

She put a finger to his lips He looked down into her face, aware of her complete power over him, aware of the illusion of Dom and sub, of Master and slave. At that moment, it was she who owned him. “It’s okay.” Her grin was saucy. “I take it as a compliment. Anyway, first one’s always free.”

He laughed, his embarrassment evaporating. “Well, I’m thirty-nine, not seventeen, though you wouldn’t know it from that little performance.” He grinned, glad she grinned back. “But give me a little while and I’ll make proper love to you.”

He sat up, drawing a circle around one perfect nipple. “I have an idea. I have a hot tub in the bathroom. It’s very relaxing. Would you like a soak?”

“That sounds great.” Elizabeth reached for her dress, slipping it on over her head. Cole found her modesty touching, though he would soon cure her of that. For now he said nothing, though he himself remained naked.

He led her into the master bath, mildly pleased as she ooh’d and aah’d over the bath fixtures and the marble floor and most especially over the oversize Jacuzzi set into one corner, surrounded by varnished wood.

Removing the lid, he flipped the switch to start the water jets. “How about a little atmosphere?” he suggested. He moved around the room, lighting the myriad candles he had set up all along the walls in crystal glasses that reflected and refracted the light. Once they were lit, he turned off the overhead light.

Standing close, Cole reached around Elizabeth and unzipped her dress, pushing it from her shoulders and watching it puddle at her feet. She didn’t protest, which pleased him. He helped her to step into the hot water, watching her seat herself before climbing in himself.

“This is incredible.” Elizabeth sighed with pleasure, leaning her head back.

He settled across from her, for the moment content just to look. The jet streams felt good pummeling his back and shoulders and frothing against his thighs. He leaned his own head back, letting the hot water work its magic.

When he opened his eyes, he saw a thick, moist steam had risen against the candlelight. It was as if they were sitting beneath a cloud of liquefying light. Elizabeth’s eyes were closed.

Beads of moisture lay like pearls on her cheeks and sparkled on her lashes. Her wet hair clung in tendrils to her slender neck. He could just make out the curve of her breasts above the water.

His cock rose and he touched it beneath the water, surprised to find it fully erect. He moved along the seat until he was beside her. Elizabeth sighed deeply and leaned her head against his shoulder. Beneath the water he took her hand, placing it on his erect shaft.

Her eyes opened. “That was fast.” She grinned mischievously. He laughed and kissed her, aware he wasn’t falling in love—he was already there.

Art Wallace was pursing his lips, his pale eyes narrowed above the tent of his fingers, against which he was leaning his nose. He sat back, his grizzled eyebrows furrowing. “These are some very bizarre, and frankly, very unsettling accusations, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth frowned. She’s expected him to be shocked, certainly, but also at least a little sympathetic. She touched her earring in a nervous gesture and dropped her hand back into her lap. She’d dressed carefully that morning in one of her more conservative suits, the cut severe but feminine, the narrow skirt stopping just below the knee. Her hair was pulled back in a twist, her pearl earrings as conservative as her suit.

She’d barely slept the night before. She’d stayed at Cole’s place until nearly midnight. What an amazing night it had been. They’d made love several more times, taking breaks to doze, to eat Chinese takeout, to slip into that wonderful hot tub again. Each time he’d made love to her, he’d been a little more dominant, a little more forceful. She’d thrilled to it—she couldn’t deny it.

Yet she had to work the next morning, and she’d finally found the will to leave. Cole had insisted on driving her home himself, and waiting at her curb until she was safely inside her building.

Once alone, worries about Gary reared their heads again, crowding out the happiness and excitement thinking about Cole engendered. She should have tried calling Art again, but Cole had distracted her so completely, she’d forgotten. When she got back to her place she checked her phone, frustrated to see she’d missed Art’s call, no doubt oblivious in the arms of her new lover when he’d called. He hadn't left a message. She didn’t dare bother him after midnight, and so tried to read herself to sleep, with the aid of a glass of wine.

That morning she only took the time to throw her briefcase in her office before marching down to have a word with Art. Trying to remain calm, she walked down to his office, knocking at the ajar door.

He’d looked up at her, not with his usually broad smile, but with a frown. “What can I do for you, Ms. Martin?”

Ms. Martin?
If anything, Art tended to err on the side of informality, often calling her Liz, or even worse, Lizzie. She closed the door and sat in front of his desk, putting her hands, palm down, on the glass surface.

As succinctly as she could, she outlined what had happened after the Autism fundraiser, including her suspicions of date rape drugs, how Gary had left her at the slave auction, and his later wild denials and repudiations. She left out any reference to Cole—it wasn’t relevant at any rate. Art glowered as she went on, not responding at all in the manner she had expected—that of paternal outrage.

Instead came his dry comment about unsettling accusations. She sat back, trying to compose herself, wondering what the hell was going on. In the pressing silence, she added, “There’s definitely something wrong with the man, Art. I can’t work with someone like that. I’m seriously thinking of pressing criminal charges.”

“Hell hath no fury…” Art murmured.

“
What
?”

Art reached across the desk, patting her hand in a patronizing way. “He told me, Elizabeth.”

He shook his head. “He even said you’d probably be in here first thing, making up some cock and bull story to cover your a—er, your tracks.”

“My what? Who? Gary? You talked to Gary?”

“Yes. Last night. I called you back, but I got your voice mail. Mary Beth said you’d left a message about Gary. He left one about you as well. He actually stopped in at my place out in Scarsdale.”

“Gary stopped in?” Elizabeth was still trying to take in what Art was saying.

“He did. And I must say, Ms. Martin, I was shocked by that little flyer you put together. I mean, what you do on your own time is certainly none of my concern, but—”

“Art!
He
did that. He created that piece of filth to
frame
me. He cooked this whole sick thing up from start to finish. It’s all an elaborate plan to discredit me. He’s been after my job since day one. You know that.” Elizabeth paused to draw a breath. She was dizzy with outrage and confusion. This couldn’t be happening. Art couldn’t possibly believe that piece of shit Gary over her.

He stared at her impassively. “Look.” The distaste was evident on his face. “You know I don’t approve of getting involved with one’s co-workers and this is exactly why. It appears the two of you are having a particularly nasty little spat. I know you’re getting up in age and want to marry but really—”

Elizabeth rose to her feet. “What the
hell
are you talking about? Are you implying Gary and I were
involved
? What has he been saying to you? You have to know that’s beyond ridiculous.”

“Sit down, Elizabeth. You’re hysterical. And lower your voice.” He glared at her until she sat. “I’m nearly eighty-years-old,” he informed her. “I’ve been around the block a time or two, and I know lovers’ quarrels can turn very ugly. I’d like to put this whole matter aside. You and Dobbins are two of Wallace & Pratt’s most valuable assets. I’d hate to see you lose your jobs over something so ridiculous and, frankly, so sordid.”

Elizabeth was nearly shaking with rage. She took a deep breath, swallowed and closed her eyes, willing her blood pressure to lower itself to something less than stroke level.

“Mr. Wallace.” She kept her voice reasonably calm, consciously using his surname as he had used hers. “I appreciate your
confusion
in this matter, as obviously Gary has filled your head with a lot of twisted lies and slander. For the record, Gary Dobbins and I have never had any relationship other than our professional relationship at work. Period. I would never date someone from the workplace, and even if I knew Gary purely socially, I would never choose a man like him.

“Be that as it may, what he did was unconscionable, and I won’t stand for it. Nor will I stand for his slander on top of it all.” She put her fingers to her temples, trying to think her way out of this. She needed to stay calm, and appeal to Art’s innate sense of logic.

“Okay. You say you’ve seen that—that slave pamphlet?”

“Yes.” Art fairly spat the word, though his tongue darted over his lips in a way that made her uncomfortable.

“Think about the one photo that showed my face. Isn’t that picture familiar?”

“Oh, I—I barely glanced at it.” His eyes shifted. “My wife was in the next room, for God’s sake.”

Elizabeth pressed on, determined to make her point. “I’ll tell you what it’s from. It’s my headshot for the news release when I joined the firm. It was pasted onto that body! That’s
not
my body. I would never pose for those pictures—not in a million years.”

Art still didn’t answer, but he seemed to relax a little, his expression slightly less glowering.

“Next point.” She continued. “Let’s say for the sake of argument those were actually me in that pamphlet, and I was involved in some kind of underground S&M sex thing. Do you really think I’d risk my career to get back at some supposed boyfriend by making up that he drugged my drink and forced me into a slave auction?”

Her laugh was brittle. “I mean, come on. How ridiculous does that sound? It’s absurd on its face.”

Grudgingly Art nodded. “It does sound awfully silly, the way you present it. But Gary was very convincing. And the ways of the heart, especially the heart of a woman scorned—”