Under His Spell

 
 
Under His Spell (For His Pleasure, Book 19)

By Kelly Favor

© 2014 All Rights Reserved

Easton had sent her home.
 

She’d failed to please him for the second
time.
 

The first time, at the Infinity Club,
she’d thought it had taken him too long to show up to the room where she was
waiting for him.
 
And so she’d started
to put her clothes back on even though he’d told her to wait, completely
undressed, as long as it took for him to arrive.

And this second time, she’d freaked out,
thinking he was exposing her in a public restroom, when in fact he’d taken
pains to ensure that she was quite safe.

In both cases, Kennedy had failed to be
patient and wait for her master, and as a result, she had yet to truly be with
Easton the way she wanted—needed—to be with him.

It wasn’t a stellar track record so far,
but he hadn’t completely shut the door on future opportunities.
 
To the contrary, he’d told her to go
home and “await further instructions.”

Kennedy was exhausted by the time she returned
to her apartment.

That was when she realized how intense
the last couple of days had been for her, how emotionally draining it all had
been, including the drama with Nicole hating her, and then agreeing to meet her
at the restaurant in the hotel.

Kennedy wondering if she was fired, then
finding out she still had a job working for the man who occasionally made her
undress for him.

Thankfully, Blake’s apartment door was shut
as Kennedy climbed the stairwell to her apartment and went inside.
 
She breathed a sigh of relief.
 
At least she didn’t have to deal with
her increasingly strange neighbor on top of everything else she’d gone through
that day.

She got out of her work clothes and went
into the bathroom, ran the hot water until the entire room steamed up (it
didn’t take long with such a small bathroom), and then she gingerly stepped
into the tub, sliding down until she was mostly submerged.

Kennedy closed her eyes and felt her
muscles slowly loosening—especially her shoulders and neck—and she
breathed a deep sigh of relief.

As she continued relaxing in the still,
hot water, Kennedy’s mind drifted.
 
She thought back to how it had felt when Easton had pushed her up
against the wall and whispered in her ear.

His voice, sexy, deep, commanding,
telling her what she’d missed out on by refusing to follow his commands.

But even in doing so, he’d given her yet
another brief glimpse into how it would feel to be taken by him.
 
His body was so strong, so coiled and
ready, his power over her was something that Kennedy couldn’t possibly
understand.

Yes, Easton was objectively
hot—gorgeous, even.
 
He was
the kind of man that made women swoon, he was the kind of man who could snap
his fingers and women would line up to screw him.

But he had an altogether different effect
on Kennedy.
 
Yes, she wanted to have
sex with him, to make him her first lover.
 
She could hardly stand to wait because her attraction to Easton was so
intense and visceral.
 
Just being
near him made her wet—hell, the sound of his voice could get her off.

But there was a lot more to Kennedy’s
feeling for Easton than simple physical attraction.
 
If it had been that simple, maybe she
wouldn’t be so all-consumed by him, thinking of him constantly, willing to do
anything he asked—or at least willing to try to do anything he asked.

It wasn’t simple.

Easton compelled her, not just because of
his raw animal magnetism, of which he had plenty, but because of his mind.

Sometimes when he looked into her eyes,
Kennedy knew that his depth of feeling for her was confusing to him also.
 
Their connection to one another was
beyond the physical and went—dare she even think it—all the way to
the soul.

“Soul mates” had always sounded like
trite terminology to her.
 
She’d hated
hearing people, especially girls, talk about finding a soul mate during silly dorm
room discussions at MIT.

Kennedy had always been far too
practical, far too grounded in science and mathematics to believe in something
as trite and flighty as a soul mate.

But as she soaked in the slowly cooling
bathwater, she realized that the idea no longer sounded preposterous to her
anymore.
 
Far from it, she now felt
that her connection to Easton was so deep, so profound, that there was no other
term to describe it.

When they looked into each other’s eyes,
they both felt it.
 
She knew that.

And deep down, she supposed Easton knew
it too.
 
That’s why he was willing
to give her another chance and another chance, even though she probably had
screwed up way too many times for someone who was supposedly a genius.

Getting out of the bathtub, Kennedy felt
rejuvenated and alive.
 
She had kept
her cell phone near her, but there hadn’t been any text messages, phone calls
or emails.

She could hope, though.

If instructions came, she would be
waiting, ready to respond at a moment’s notice.

After toweling dry, putting on deodorant,
some perfume, a little moisturizer, and then she dressed in her comfy flannel
pants and a t-shirt, some warm socks. She also laid out a “sexy” outfit on her
bed, just in case Easton got in touch.
 
She didn’t want to be slowed down, frantically trying to pick out
clothes, if he was telling her to meet him somewhere.

This way she could stay cozy but also be
prepared for a night out if necessary.

Once that was all done, Kennedy grabbed a
book and lay down on the couch with the TV on.
 
She read her book, a mystery that wasn’t
too demanding, and occasionally she’d glance up at the TV and watch the dumb
sitcom that was playing.

Slowly, slowly, she was coming down and
feeling half-normal after the craziness that had been her life the last few
days.

She even started to doze a little bit,
her eyes drooping as the lines of text in the book began to blur together.

Kennedy tried to stay awake, because she
was anxious that she might miss a message from Easton—but eventually her
eyes closed despite herself.

Next thing she knew, there was a loud
bang that made her sit up, disoriented, heart pounding in her throat.
 

And then the banging came again, and she
realized it was someone knocking loudly on the door to her apartment.

“Who is it?” Kennedy called out, suddenly
nervous.
 
She didn’t think it could
be Easton, although for the quickest flash, she did wonder if perhaps this was
some new game he was playing, showing up unannounced, surprising her.

“It’s me,” the man said through the door.

She realized instantly who the obnoxious
door pounder was—Blake.

Her stomach plummeted and she felt
irrationally upset by his coming to her apartment yet again.
 
“Sorry, Blake, I’m…I’m not feeling very
well today,” she called out, not getting off the couch.

“Come on, Kennedy,” Blake said, his voice
muffled through the door.
 
“I need
to speak to you, just for a minute.”

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“No, no it can’t.”

“Well it has to, Blake, because—I
simply don’t feel well.”

“Kennedy, I’ll wait outside your door
until you open it, I don’t care if it takes me all night and all day.”

Sitting up fully now, Kennedy debated on
her course of action.
 
What she
wanted more than anything was to just ignore him until he went away.
 
But the thing was—she couldn’t be
sure that Blake would ever just go away!
 
He was so persistent—she hadn’t realized just how persistent a
person could be until Blake showed up.

And the last thing Kennedy wanted was to
know that he was standing outside her door all night.
 
She thought he really might do it, too.

Sighing deeply and shaking her head, she
got up and crossed to the door.
 
Even as she reached out to open it, she still wasn’t sure whether or not
she was going to allow Blake into her apartment again.
 
Her hand seemed to have its own mind,
though, and before she knew it, he was striding inside like he owned the place.

“Thanks for letting me in,” Blake said,
taking the center of the room as if he was on stage.
 
“I really needed to see you.”

Kennedy sighed yet again.
 
“I’m not feeling well.”

Blake’s hair was mussed and he had a dark
five o’clock shadow on his chin.
 
His eyes were bloodshot, and his shirt was wrinkled.
 
“I don’t feel so hot myself,” he said,
as if sensing her appraising gaze.
 
“I’ve never been like this, never had this happen to me before, and
maybe I’m not handling it so great.”

“Handling what?” Kennedy said, folding
her arms and waiting anxiously for him to spit it out so he could leave.

“This,” Blake said, throwing his arms
wide, as if that explained everything.
 
“You.”

“Me?” she asked.
 
“You need to handle me?”

“No, no.”
 
Blake began pacing back and forth, his
hair bouncing wildly as he walked.
 
“I’m not trying to handle you.
 
But I’m…I’m worried for you, Kennedy.
 
All day long, I couldn’t stop worrying.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he said, stopping now and
staring at her.
 
“You went back to
him.
 
You went back to that piece of
garbage, Eaton or Easton or Egon—whatever the fuck his name is.
 
I don’t care about his name, I don’t
care if he’s rich and powerful and handsome.”

Don’t
forget sexy
, Kennedy thought,
and almost—almost—let out a totally inappropriate laugh.
 
But then she got hold of herself.
 
“Easton didn’t hurt me,” Kennedy
said.
 
“I just went back to work,
Blake.
 
I need the job and I like my
job.”

Blake shook his head and laughed.
 
“You don’t understand what he’s doing,
Kennedy.
 
This guy is using
you.
 
He doesn’t care about you,
Kennedy.
 
He doesn’t see what I see
in you.”

The strange, frantic look in Blake’s eyes
was making her more and more uncomfortable.
 
She wondered just what had happened to
the nice guy she’d met and gone out to dinner with not long ago.
 
That normal guy had been replaced by an
overbearing, anxious, blood-shot-eyed-man ranting and raving in her living
room.

She tried to stay calm.
 
Letting him in had clearly been a mistake.
 
Now she needed to find a way to get him
out, and she would say just about anything to do so.

“Listen,” Kennedy began, keeping her
voice even.
 
“I’m not involved with
Easton.
 
He’s my boss and I work for
him.
 
That’s it.”

Blake stared at her.
 
“He’s not going to leave it at
that.
 
He’s going to push for
more.
 
You should quit.
 
You should quit and never go back.”

“Maybe I will quit,” Kennedy
replied.
 
“Why don’t we talk more
about it tomorrow?”

Blake shook his head and ran a hand
through his hair, leaving it even messier than it was before.
 
“This—this isn’t even what I came
here to tell you.”

“Okay, so what did you come here to tell
me?”

“Kennedy, I care about you.”

She looked at him, her mouth going
dry.
 
“Oh.
 
Thanks.
 
Thank you.”
 
She tried to smile, but it didn’t feel
right on her face.

He stepped towards her now.
 
His hand reached out.
 
“I care a lot about you.
 
I think a lot about you.
 
You’re so funny, and smart, and
beautiful, and sexy…” his eyes glazed over and he smiled wider.
 
“Shit, you are so fucking sexy,
Kennedy.
 
You don’t even know what
you do to me.”

She stepped back and swallowed.
 
“Blake.
 
I appreciate everything you’re saying
right now, but I am just so under the weather—“

“No, let me get this out.
 
Don’t hide from what I’m telling you,”
he continued.
 
“I know that maybe
it’s exciting to have a powerful, rich guy take an interest in you.
 
And I know from plenty of experience
that women tend to prefer jerks over nice guys.
 
But don’t fall for it, Kennedy.
 
You’re too smart to really buy into the
idea that a shithead like your boss is going to suddenly change around and be a
nice guy to you.”