The Ninety Days of Genevieve (5 page)

'Now,' he said pleasantly, when they finished their coffee and liqueurs, 'go to the ladies.' He indicated the door on the other side of the room with a tilt of his head.

'But I don't want to/ she said in surprise.

'What you want doesn't matter.' He smiled and reached across the table to hold her hand. 'Get this straight. If we make a deal you do as you're told. Walk over there. Go in. Stay a few minutes and walk back.' His strong fingers held hers. 'Don't hurry. Just walk.'

'I couldn't hurry if I wanted to in these damned shoes,' she said tightly.

He laughed. 'I like them. They make you walk like a tart. And thafs what you are, aren't you? You're with me because you expect me to pay you. With a signature and not money, but the principle's the same. I've bought you, and tonight I'm going to get my money's worth. Starting now. So walk.'

She swayed over to the door past the small tables and the respectable dining couples. There was a large gilt-framed mirror in the ladies. She looked at herself. A fashionable woman in a silk suit, her hair neat, her face discreetly made-up. And wearing a leather bondage corset under her conventional outer clothes, the restraining straps digging into her flesh, reminding her of the other image of herself she had watched earlier on, posing. A tart, was she? In a way she had to admit that he was right. They were negotiating a contract, but he was controlling the terms. She walked back to the table aware that his eyes were on her all the time. He stood up.

'Right/ he said. 'I think if s time for me to inspect the goods I paid so much money for.'

Sinclair lived in a tall Georgian house in one of the more exclusive London squares. She found it difficult to manage the high steps to the front door. He did not offer to help her, but watched her as she tottered uncomfortably. Inside her heels clicked on the marble-tiled floor in the hall.

He opened a door and she found herself in a room that was both masculine and elegant. There were oil portraits on the walls, large leather-covered chairs, a polished wooden floor and discreet lighting from red-shaded lamps. He walked over to one of the chairs, turned it so that it faced her and sat down.

'Get your clothes off,' he said.

'I thought we were going to discuss your terms/ she began.

'We are/ he agreed. 'But not with a desk between us. You're not at work now. Just do as you're told. I want to see if Georgie's work is still up to her usual standard.'

Genevieve stripped slowly and was pleased to see him shift position as she peeled off her blouse. Maybe he was getting an erection already? She hoped so. The sooner he was hard the sooner he would take her to bed and she could remove the now increasingly uncomfortable corset.

She left her skirt until last. When she finally let it fall to the floor she saw his expression change from the relaxed look of a man enjoying a performance to obvious annoyance. He stood up, came towards her and hooked a finger in the front of her silk panties. 'Did I tell you to wear these?' he asked coldly.

'You didn't include any,' she began. 'So I thought...'

'Lef s get one thing clear right now,' he interrupted. 'If we come to an agreement we do things my way. If I don't give you panties it means you don't wear panties. Understand?'

She nodded, speechless. He went to a drawer and took out a pair of scissors. He pulled the panties away from her body and cut them. Her favourite underwear ended up in pieces on the floor.

'That's better,' he approved, inspecting her. 'You're a natural blonde. I thought you would be. Turn round.' She did so. 'Spread your legs. Bend over slowly, then straighten up.' She heard the leather creak as she moved. 'You've got a nice, sexy ass,' he told her pleasantly. 'But I guessed that too.'

'I don't see how,' she said, still with her back to him.

'I always let you walk in front of me,' he said. 'The perfect gentleman. Didn't you notice? Then I used my imagination to decide how your bottom would look if I stripped you. And how big your nipples were. And how fast it would take to get them erect. Little daydreams like that help keep me awake at boring shareholders' meetings. Don't feel too flattered. I do it quite often with women that I meet.' She prepared to face him again. He said sharply: 'Stay as you are.' She stood still. 'Now,' he said, 'walk over to that door, and take your time.'

When she reached the door she realised that it was drilled with inch-wide holes.

'Turn round,' he said. 'Back up.'

He went to a cupboard and took out some wooden pegs and narrow leather straps. He positioned her exactly how he wanted her, flat against the door, legs apart, arms stretched above her head, her body forming an X. He pushed the pegs into the holes nearest her hands and feet and bound her wrists and ankles with the straps.

'Thaf s fine/ he said. 'Every house should have a door like this. You know, Miss Loften, it was worth buying you dinner just to see your legs nicely apart like a high-class whore waiting for action.' He stood in front of her. 'Although a real whore would have known how to prepare herself.' His hands took her breasts and his thumbs stroked her nipples lightly. She knew he was watching her face for signs of enjoyment. It was difficult not to oblige him, especially as her body was betraying her anyway and she felt her flesh peaking into two hard buds. He took the strap with the rings on it and clipped one ring over her aroused nipple, tightening it until she gave a yelp of protest.

'Next time perhaps you'll do it yourself/ he said.

Her other nipple was treated the same way. He pulled on the strap that connected the rings forcing her breasts together and giving her a deep cleavage. The pressure and the tugging made her realise how arousing it was to be manhandled in this way. The sensations became even more intense when he began to tighten the other straps so that both breasts were pulled upwards, and then he adjusted the front lacing of the corset, nipping her waist in by at least two inches, so that she gasped.

He backed away from her and gave her a slow once over. Even the passage of his eyes aroused her. He turned, went over to a chair and pushed it until it came to rest a few feet away from her. Sitting down, he put one leg over the arm and lounged back. A quick glance proved to her that he had enjoyed restraining her with the pegs, the straps and the rings as much as she had enjoyed being his victim.

'I don't think we've got much to discuss,' he said. 'I always knew that under that cool and efficient exterior there was a highly sexed woman just waiting to be liberated, and your behaviour so far has proved that I'm right.'

She wasn't going to give in that easily. 'Don't jump to conclusions,' she objected. 'I want that business contract. That's why I'm cooperating. And I'd hardly describe this,' she tugged at her bound wrists, 'as liberating.'

'Wouldn't you?' he said softly. 'Lots of women would. Right now you haven't got to think. You haven't got to make decisions. You're free just to be yourself.'

'This
isn't being myself,' she protested quickly.

'Isn't it?' He smiled. 'Are you sure? Do you know yourself that well?' He paused. 'Here's the deal: for ninety days you'll obey my orders. When I want you I'll call you, and you'll play the games I choose, no arguments. When you're with me I'll let you know who you're going to be. A lady, a whore, a slave, the choice is mine. I will promise that whatever I arrange for you, I'll protect you from being recognised by anyone who might know you. If you really object to anything I suggest you can back out, you've got that option, but if you do the deal's off. Agreed?'

'Yes,' she said.

'Don't you mean "yes please"?' he asked her softly.

Ninety days? Three months? She had been expecting all this to be over in a couple of weeks. Did the idea of being his sexual slave whenever he decided to exercise his power over her excite her or appal her? She was not sure. 'I'll do whatever you want,' she said quickly. 'But just remember this is strictly a business deal.'

He stood up and walked towards her. She would never have believed that she could find being forced into this kind of erotically humiliating position exciting. Normally she hated being uncomfortable. Now her swelling clitoris was already peeping through the bush of her pubic hair. He put one finger on her and stroked gently. The sensation was so intense that she writhed against her restraints and groaned.

'You'll do whatever I want, will you?' His mouth moved over her neck and his tongue found her ear, lazily tracing patterns, probing. 'Let's see if you mean that. I want you to make me come, but not too quickly. Think you can manage that?'

He took the strap that joined her nipples and tugged. The rings that circled her sensitive flesh caused her tremors of erotic pain. Her body quivered and shook. All she wanted now was relief, either manual or from penetration. She moaned and thrust her hips forward.

'Answer me,' he said.

'Yes/ she groaned. 'Yes.'

She almost said please, her need for relief was so great. Swiftly he moved back, unzipped his trousers and lifted out his cock and balls. His erection was impressive but she did not have much time to admire it before he entered her smoothly, his hands behind her now, cupping her bottom, lifting her towards him. Her wrists and ankles pulled against their restraints. Her nipples, aroused from the embrace of the rings, rubbed against his coat, causing her extra delight.

'I've been looking forward to this/ he murmured.

He thrust into her, slowly at first and she matched his rhythm, clenching her internal muscles, squeezing, relaxing, pulling him deeper, letting him withdraw. She wanted to make it last too, not only to please him but for her own pleasure. But as his hips moved faster a glance at his face showed lier that he was no longer in control. And neither was she. All that mattered now was release from the mounting sexual tension that gripped her. He climaxed just before she did, a hoarse groan of pleasure deep in his throat matching her own intense cry of relief.

She relaxed limply against the door and watched as he tidied himself up. Even returning to its unexcited size, his penis was impressive and she noticed that he was circumcised. He removed the pegs and straps that secured her. For a moment she remained standing against the door, then she took an unsteady step forward. She felt his hand on her arm.

'Sit down,' he said.

She collapsed into one of the armchairs. The leather felt warm and sensual against her skin. He poured her a glass of wine and one for himself, clinked his glass against hers, smiled, and said, 'Here's to the next three months.'

The following day a small parcel arrived by special courier. It contained three pairs of silk bikini briefs, lace-trimmed, beautifully handmade. A simple message card read: BUT NEXT TIME, OBEY ORDERS.

Chapter Two

ow's your little flirtation with Mr Sinclair coming

L 1.
along?' George Fullerton stood in front of Genevieve's desk.

'Flirtation? What flirtation?' Genevieve had been engrossed in her work and her reply sounded sharper than she intended.

'Well, perhaps that's the wrong word.' Fullerton perched on the side of the desk. He was wearing a fresh red carnation. 'It's just that you seemed to be getting on pretty well with him at that last meeting. I wondered why we hadn't heard from him again?'

Genevieve looked up at Fullerton and linked her fingers together under her chin. 'What exactly is "getting on well with him" supposed to mean, George?' she asked sweetly.

Fullerton had the grace to look uncomfortable. 'I thought maybe things were getting a little personal between you,' he replied.

Genevieve revised her opinion of George Fullerton. He was obviously more observant than she realised. Just how flushed and uncomfortable
had
she looked when he interrupted James Sinclair's unorthodox inspection of her body? 'Mr Sinclair is a rather attractive man,' she said. 'We exchanged a few compliments. It's good for business. But thaf s all.'

'Fine,' Fullerton said. He paused. 'Do you want my advice?'

Genevieve smiled. 'I rather think I'm going to get it anyway.'

'You've probably heard about Sinclair's business reputation. He hasn't made himself a millionaire by being Mr Nice Guy. I don't hold that against him, but he's got another reputation too.'

'With the ladies?' Genevieve nodded. 'I heard.'

'And as a manipulator of people,' Fullerton said. 'He uses them. Like chess pieces. I think he enjoys playing power games.'

'Does that concern us?' she asked. 'With luck we could be handling his advertising. Who cares how he makes his money, as long as he keeps on making it.'

'Have you wondered why he came to us?' Fullerton said.

'He saw the campaigns we did for Electa and Thor-woods,' Genevieve said. 'He liked our style. We've got some very exciting talent in our creative department.' She paused. 'I think he knows we're ambitious. We want to grow. He understands that. He likes it.'

'Maybe. But he's with Randle-Mayne at the moment. They already handle several international accounts. Why does he want to move?'

'He's not happy with them. He told me that much. Creative differences.'

Fullerton shrugged. 'He's hard to please. We've all heard that. And Randle-Mayne haven't been the same since they lost Steve Farmer. Ifs just that I'd like to know if Sinclair's really serious about moving or whether he's just playing with us for reasons of his own. Maybe using us to get at someone else. It's the sort of thing he'd do, and, frankly, I don't like the idea of Barringtons being used like that. We've got an image to consider. I wonder if he's approached anyone else?'