#escort!au

Loki actually starts to get interested in Alex when he caught her grinning at an insult he said to Tony in Asgardian (she didn't list being fluent in Asgardian, maybe she's not confident in it?) He "subtly" tests her over the rest of the night, finding no other signs of her understanding the language. This is what catches his attention.

Alex keeps her civilian life completely separate from her sugar/escort life. Realizing that Loki might've noticed her react to Asgardian made her over correct so hard that it only made him more suspicious. This is the event that triggers a whole pseudo-rivarly thing they got going on.

The pseudo-rivarly is Loki attempting to find the "real" Alex, or to him, Cherry, after he asked her to "drop the escort act." She didn't drop the escort act. He's watched her with other clients, notice's how she changes her reactions and attitudes to fit them, and he sees it as a challenge.

For a little bit, their escort/client relationship is thriving. Alex actually enjoys Loki as a client (even if she wished his attempts at prying were less frequent) and especially loved the gifts he sent her. Out of all of her sugar daddies, Loki either had the same tastes as her or paid enough attention to notice her tastes. Either way, it meant she was always excited to see what he'd picked out for her.

But that couldn't last.

Around the time of @wolveria 's fic, (which takes place after Loki and Alex have a working relationship but before my fic of them) Loki is, well he's falling apart. With his escorts he's demanding, harsh, and rude. With everyone else he's angry and rash. He's having a crisis. His dad was diagnosed with Osteosarcoma.

Thor is off being Thor, the country's golden boy despite all the partying and lack of responsibility, Hela has been all but cut off from the family, and Loki is just trying to please his dad.

At some event, after Loki is a bigger ass than usual, Alex has a real conversation with Loki. She's not working, she was invited as a guest by the host. Without the escort/client relationship in the way, Loki finally gets to see the real Alex.

They have a bit of a moment. Two people seeing each other for the first time. And Alex even surprises him by ending the conversation with an Asgardian idiom.

But a single moment cannot heal a lifetime of pain.

Loki ends up blacklisted from Alex's client list. Until she ends up owing him a favor, which looks a lot like a long term escort contract with exclusivity clauses.

V’s client tonight was the daughter of a famous movie maker. She had her hair in a high bun, and he was to escort her to a premier party after the viewing. Her blue dress was 1920s flapper inspired with accents creating beautiful shapes along her body.

They walked arm and arm on the red carpet where she didn’t answer any questions, just stood and looked pretty. She didn’t want any funny business during the movie. At the party afterwards, everyone mingled and talked about the film, congratulating both (Y/N) and her dad. When people asked what V did or his actual name, she would give them a smile.

“He’s an escort. We’ve known each other for about two months.”

“And I don’t feel like giving out my name would be right since I’m working right now.”

She was known as a straightforward woman, rebellious. Still, no one would have expected her to bring an actual escort to one of her father’s premiers. And to be so open about it too. It made the other fancy dressed people rather uncomfortable and they would either change the subject or simply leave the conversation completely.

About an hour and a half into the party, she whispered into his ear that she was ready to go home. By that, she meant she was getting into the mood and wanted to do something about it. So she went to go to tell her father she was leaving, and Taehyung went to go get the car. An older woman shyly stopped him.

“I know this may seem improper to ask, but what club do you work for? If they have more men like you, I may have to stop by.”

V put on a charming closed mouth smile and got a card out of his inside jacket pocket, “I work for the Midnight Club, miss...”

“Ahn. Ahn Shinhye.”

He nodded and handed her a card, “I’ll make sure to let them know you’ll be coming and I promise you’ll get the best treatment.”

The color in her cheeks was no longer from the ridiculous amount of makeup she had on, “W-why thank you, V.”

They bowed and went their separate ways. She came back and the two were driven home by her personal driver. They went into her large house and he kissed her lips tenderly after they took off their shoes, and he said the words he usually did.

“I’m going to get a drink from the fridge. Be ready by the time--”

“Not tonight.” She placed a finger on his lips.

He tilted his head, “What do you mean?”

She answered, “Tonight I want you to show me something personal. Well, maybe not too personal. What’s one of your hobbies?”

So she wants a casual date night, Taehyung thought. The two went into the living room as he spoke.

“Well, I have an interest in art. I draw sometimes.”

“Oh, what do you like to draw?” She sounded genuinely curious.

He was getting excited, and he wasn’t supposed to be. Clients often asked about his hobbies as intimate foreplay of sorts. She was probably no different. Just pretending to actually care what he did outside of getting paid to care about them for a night.

“Mostly faces. People. I find them to be interesting subjects. I’m not that good yet, but I practice when I can.”

“Do you have a notebook or something that you use? I used to draw a lot when I was a kid, and I’ve been meaning to get back into it. Can I see?”

Taehyung chuckled, “You really want to see them?”

She nodded, “Yeah. Of course.”

He took out his phone and showed them to her. She smiled and complimented them. Tae felt really good showing her what he had created and loved when she was able to name the characters he had doodled here and there. Was he getting too carried away?

“Taehyung? Um, I wanted to tell you that I really like you. I picked you the first day because of your looks and popularity, but being with you I realized that you’re a really good man. If you’d give me the chance, I’d like to make this an actual relationship.”

Taehyung wiped at his eyes, “You’re only saying that because I’m beautiful.”

“I’m not. I really do care for you. I have treated you differently from all my past toys. The reason you’ve stayed so long is because...” She took a deep breath. “Because I love you.”

He couldn’t deny that her affections had changed for him over the short time they had gotten to know each other. She called him out when she was feeling lonely and would sometimes pay hundreds of dollars just for him to cuddle her until she fell asleep. She was the first person to actually care about his pictures instead of changing the subject to kissing and then screwing.

“I love you, Taehyung. I really do and I don’t care if you still want to be an escort if you do accept my feelings. Even if you don’t, I’ll still want you to be around me because that’s how love works, right?” She was starting to get choked up.

He grabbed her hand and kissed it, “I think it’s best for us to part for the night. I’ll have to think over your proposal.”

The man then went to the door and put his shoes and blazer back on. He left her in the living room as he was trying to think about what to do. Things like this had to be reported to the boss. If the client had feelings for the escort or vise versa, then they were both put on the watch list. It was a safety thing since people sometimes had the tendency to project their feelings on someone they are regularly in contact with.

Taehyung knew for a fact that this wasn’t the case with her even as he left, but this was all so new to him. This was a job that he loved. Could he leave it all for her? Even if she said she’d be ok with it. Taehyung felt like he’d be unloyal to her. He left.

A few seconds later, there was a knock on her door. She answered it, pocket knife in her hand since it was late at night. She looked through the peep hole and saw it was Taehyung. The knife went into the drawer.

“I’ve made up my mind.” He grabbed her face and kissed it.

Olivia did her best not to squirm, but it was a struggle. Her knees ached from crawling across the hard wooden floor. She had no idea how long she’d been waiting, but it felt like forever, and every second that passed just made her want him more. She wanted to know what his body looked like under that sexy suit. What his hands felt like when he touched her. What noises he made when he came.

She bit her lip and concentrated on keeping her posture straight. He would be upset if he walked in to find her slumped.

Finally he appeared in the doorway. He had lost his jacket and loosened his tie, and he was in the process of rolling up his shirt sleeves. He grabbed one of the room’s chairs and dragged it in front of the bed before he sat.

“Scoot to the edge of the bed. Panties off, feet on the floor, knees spread.”

She nodded and hurried to do as ordered. As soon as she was in position he smiled. “Very pretty. Are you wet for me, little cat?”

“Yes, Sir,” she said. “Practically dripping.”

“Only practically?” He shook his head. “We’ll have to do something about that. Did you bring the toys I asked for?”

“Of course, Sir. They’re in the top drawer, behind you.”

He strolled to the dresser like he had all the time in the world, like she wasn’t trembling and aching for one little touch. He opened the drawer and pondered the selection: a small vibrator, several silk scarves, a bottle of lube, and a thick purple dildo. He grabbed that and waved it at her.

“One of yours?”

“I bought it special, Sir. I’ve never…” She lowered her head, blushing. “I’ve never used something that big before.”

“Hmm.” He stepped closer and stroked a finger down her cheek. Lifted her chin so that she was looking up at him with wide green eyes. “But you like the idea, don’t you? The idea of being stuffed full of this big thing?”

Her eyes darted from the dildo in his hand to his face, and at last she nodded. “I’m not sure I could take all of it.”

“Maybe we should save this for next time then. Would you prefer that?”

She swallowed and dug her nails into her thighs. “No, Sir. I think—I think I’d like to try it.” She flicked her gaze up at him and smiled. “For you.”

“Good girl,” he said, stroking her cheek again. “Stay here.” He left the room for a few moments and returned with one of the dining room chairs; it was armless, and not as plush as the ones already in the room. He set it just in front of her and laid a towel on the seat. On top of that he placed the purple dildo.

It looked even bigger when he wasn’t holding it, and her eyes widened as her heartbeat kicked up a few notches. He opened the bottle of lube and slicked up the plastic. She loved watching him stroke the realistic-looking toy up and down, especially the way he rubbed his palm over the head. He seemed to sense that, and gave it a few more rubs than it really needed before flashing her a teasing smile.

“Come here,” he said and crooked a finger at her.

She walked toward him and stopped, waiting for his next instruction. For a long time neither of them moved; all the air seemed to have left the room, and she thought maybe he was going to forget the whole game and just throw her down right there for a good, hard fuck.

Part of her hoped he would.

But he shook himself, like waking from a dream, and the moment passed. Instead he slid a hand around her waist and pulled her close. His head dipped, and a moment later she felt his lips against her collarbone, just above the pearls.

“Had to taste you, sweet thing,” he murmured. “See if you’re as good as you look.”

“Am I?” she said.

He kissed her again, and this time his tongue brushed her skin. “Better,” he said.

“Sir—”

“Shhh.” His hand skated down to cup her ass, then slid between her thighs. She couldn’t hold back a gasp when he slid a fingertip along her slit. “More than practically dripping now,” he said with a smirk.

She shivered. “Sir, I need—” She broke off with a soft moan as he circled her throbbing clit, his touch gentle and excruciating.

“What do you need, kitten?”

His voice was low and husky, rougher than she’d heard it before, and coupled with what his fingers were doing, it made her ache. She leaned into his touch, her forehead dropping to rest against his shoulder, and she gripped his arm tight enough to leave half-moon impressions from her crimson nails.

“I know what you need,” he said. He kissed her temple. “You need something inside this sweet pussy. Something fat and hard. Don’t you?”

“Uh huh,” she said with a drugged nod. “I do! Please, Sir!”

“You want to fuck that big cock, little kitten?”

“Your big cock, Sir!”

He laughed and pulled his hand away. She let out a pained moan that earned her a little smack on the ass. “Behave, or you don’t get any at all. Now tell me which cock you want.”

She whimpered, but managed to nod toward the chair. “That one, Sir.”

“Mmhmm.” He led her to the chair and positioned her over it, one leg on either side of the seat. “That’s what I thought. Dirty girl like you just can’t get enough.”

She dipped her head in acknowledgment, and when she glanced up again he was unbuttoning his shirt. He pulled his tie over his head and stripped off the shirt. Next he stepped out of his shoes and unbuckled his belt.

Her legs trembled from the awkward position, but she just watched as he carefully and methodically stripped down to his black boxer briefs. He gathered his clothes and placed them neatly on the valet stand nearby, looping the tie and belt over the shirt’s shoulders. He folded the trousers perfectly at the crease and hung them straight. His shoes went underneath, his socks folded on top.

He strode back to the bed, the tight underwear emphasizing his thick thighs and molding itself to his erection. He smirked at the expression on her face; she was surprised she wasn’t drooling.

“Take off your bra. I want to see those gorgeous tits bounce as you fuck that huge cock.”

She unfastened it, wobbling a little but not losing her balance, and let the lace fall to the floor. Now she wore only the garter and stockings, her tall shoes, and of course the pearls.

“Good girl,” he said with a pleased grin. “Pinch your nipples for me. Like that, good. Harder, baby. Twist.”

A flush gathered on her cheeks and chest and the coals burning in her lower belly stoked higher and hotter. He nodded encouragement, watching avidly as she twisted and tugged on her swollen nipples. “So pretty,” he said. “They look sweet like fat little cherries. Maybe if you’re a very good girl I’ll suck on them for you.” At her expression he laughed. “Later.”

Settling onto the end of the bed, he gestured for her to continue. “Go slow, kitten. Nice and slow. No need to rush.”

She didn’t take her eyes off of him as she gripped the toy with one hand and slowly lowered herself onto it. The thick head eased its way in, and she swallowed a gasp. She could feel herself stretching around it, almost to the point of pain, but fuck it was so good and she wanted more.

He raised a hand. “Up,” he said.

She whimpered in protest, earning herself a displeased frown, and lifted her hips so that the head slid out with a pop.

“Nice and tight around that big thing.” He grinned and tugged his shorts down to free his cock.

Her eyes widened; suddenly she could barely remember how badly she’d wanted the toy inside her, because he was gorgeous: thick—though thankfully not as thick as the dildo—and rock hard, with a drop of pre-come decorating the tip like a little jewel. She licked her lips. “Sir—”

“Not yet, kitty cat. You fuck that toy first; then we’ll see about letting you have a taste of me.” He flicked his fingers. “Again. Take more of it this time.”

She couldn’t hold back her gasp: the head slid in more easily than before, and with it an inch or two of shaft. She rocked a little, moaning softly, and he waved again.

“Up.”

“Sir!” she whined.

“Do you want to stop?”

“No, Sir! Please, Sir!”

“Then up.”

She did as he said, raising her hips until it slid out, just like before. She felt empty, bereft, and she watched him slowly stroke his cock with big, pleading eyes.

“More,” he finally rasped. “As much of it as you can. Go slow, baby; don’t hurt yourself.”

Biting hard on her lip, Olivia slowly, slowly eased down onto the thick dildo. It did hurt, a little, but in the best way. She thought she could feel every vein and ripple in the realistically textured silicone, and with a long moan she lowered herself all the way down.

“What a good girl,” he said. “How does that feel?”

“Fuck—Sir, it’s—oh God!” She couldn’t speak, could barely think, could only feel.

Another of those knowing smirks. He leaned forward a little, squeezing his cock as he did, and nodded. “Fuck it, kitten. You know you want to. Don’t you?”

She gave a hungry, drunken nod and rocked her hips. It was so big; she needed time to adjust to it; but after a few moments she gripped the front edge of the seat and lifted a little to drop back down. “Fuck!” she cried.

“Just like that. My sweet, horny little kitty. Fuck that fat toy. Feels so fucking good, baby girl,” he crooned.

Soon she had a rhythm going, fast and sloppy. The dildo wasn’t too long, just thick, and she could feel every fat inch of it, filling and stretching and rubbing against her throbbing clit. “Sir!” she moaned. “Sir, it’s so good!”

“Slow down, dirty girl. Not time to come yet.”

She whimpered, but did as he said, moving slow and easy on the toy. It still bumped her clit, an agonizing tease. Her thighs were trembling and her tummy felt tight; she was so incredibly close, but she didn’t want to disobey.

He pushed himself off the bed, kicking his shorts away, and sauntered closer. His cock bobbed inches from her nose, and she looked up at him with a plea in her bright eyes.

“Is this what you want?” he said. He touched his finger to the tip, to collect some pre-come, and offered it to her. She licked it away with an eager little whine.

“Uh huh. One cock isn’t enough for my greedy kitty. You need two, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered. “Please?”

Tangling one hand in her hair, he used his thumb to wipe away the tears that leaked down her cheeks. She hadn’t realized she’d been crying, but she wasn’t surprised: she was nearly overwhelmed by sensation, by need, by him, and she only wanted more.

“Say it again,” he said.

“Please, Sir? May I suck your cock for you, Sir?”

He groaned, surprising them both, but covered the momentary loss of control with another smirk. “Of course you can, baby.” He tipped her head back a little and her tongue darted out to flick the tip of his cock.

“No teasing,” he said. “You take this cock like you took that other one. Understand me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And no hands allowed, unless you need to signal me to stop. Then just pinch my thigh.”

“Yes, Sir. All green. Please?”

“Open your pretty mouth for me.”

She did, eagerly, and he rested his cock against her bottom lip for a moment. They watched each other, green eyes against warm brown, and with a smile he eased himself in.

She took him with a hungry moan, and he pushed deeper. Her hips moved against the dildo as she sucked him; he guided her head with the hand buried in her coppery hair. Soon he was fucking her mouth in the same rhythm she was fucking the toy, and as he pushed even deeper she felt tears on her cheeks again.

“Green?” he breathed.

She managed a nod, moaning around him, and he didn’t let up.

“Don’t you dare come, dirty little girl,” he said. “That toy doesn’t get to make you come. Only I do. Understand?”

Another nod, desperate and wanton, and she squeezed the edge of the chair so that the wood dug into her palms. She had never needed an orgasm so badly in her life, but the instinct to obey was stronger: she was good, she was good, she wouldn’t come.

She was His.

Suddenly he pulled out of her mouth, jerking her head back by the hair, and grasped his cock in his free hand. Two or three rough strokes and he was coming, spurting all over her neck and chest, hot come dripping down her tits and onto her thighs. She moaned, nearly losing it, but somehow she managed to hold back her orgasm.

“Fuck!” he panted. “Fuck, that—Christ, baby. Holy shit.” The muscles in his thighs and stomach jumped and danced, and she couldn’t resist licking a drop off sweat off the arm that held her.

She looked up at him, her swollen lips curved in a knowing smile. “Did I please you, Sir?”

He bent and kissed her for the first time, hot and hard and possessive, but softening before he pulled away. Gentle. Sweet. Her hands came up to squeeze his shoulders. Stroke his chest. He nipped at her lip and stood up, smiling the big, eye-crinkling grin that had so captivated her in his photos.

“Don’t move, sweetheart,” he said before he disappeared into the bathroom. She heard water running, and a few moments later he was back. He helped her stand on shaking legs and carefully cleaned his come off her chest with a warm cloth.

“Let’s lie down for a few minutes,” he said, his tone sweet and easy. “You can catch your breath and get ready for round two. How does that sound?”

He used a clean corner of the towel to wipe her face, and she nodded. “Perfect, Sir. I want more.”

“Of course you do.” He kissed her again. “Dirty girl.”

The day after she returned from Milan, Olivia called him and left a message to ask if he were free for drinks on Thursday. They had a brief conversation when he returned her call, and she’d never felt more awkward in her life. He was smooth and steady; charming, even; and they quickly hammered out the details: six thirty Thursday evening, at a little spot in the East Village he liked.

Her meeting ran late, and she hurried through the door at almost six forty-five. The place was crowded, but not packed, and after a moment scanning the crowd she made her way toward the back of the bar. He rose as she approached, his mouth curved in a welcoming smile. He was dressed simply, in black trousers and a white shirt. The sleeves were rolled to the elbow to reveal nicely muscled forearms. He was better looking in person than in his picture, and that was saying something. She hadn’t had time to change, of course, but the charcoal gray pencil skirt and filmy white blouse she wore wasn’t out of place in the professional crowd.

“Ms. Gable,” he said, his eyes lingering here and there as he scanned her up and down.

“Mr. Ortiz.” She paused a moment, her lips parted, until at last she smiled. He held out her chair and she sat. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” she said. “My meeting, then traffic—” She waved a hand and he grinned.

“Don’t worry about it. I imagine your schedule must be hectic.”

“To say the least,” she said. A server approached, and Olivia ordered a bourbon, neat, with a twist.

“Are you hungry?” he said before the server could escape. “They have small plates.” He handed her a menu and she took a quick glance.

“Prosciutto with melon,” she said. “Unless you’re a vegetarian?”

He shook his head. “Sounds great.” He smiled at the server. “And another beer for me, please.”

They made small talk while they waited for their drinks, and once they arrived he took a longer moment to study her. She was petite, smaller than she’d looked in her video, and striking with that bright hair. She wore it up in a neat bun, and he wondered what it would look like spilling across her pale shoulders. He smiled warmly at something she said; he was momentarily transfixed by her crimson-painted lips. The dimple in her chin. The brilliant spark of her green eyes, even in the pub’s low light.

“You’re very beautiful, Ms. Gable,” he said during a lull.

She lifted a brow and her gaze was cool. “You don’t have to flatter me, Mr. Ortiz. I’m not paying you for that.”

He laughed and sipped his beer. “I think I should correct a common misconception before we continue.”

“Oh?” she said and bit into a piece of melon. “Please do.”

His gaze snagged on the soft pink fruit against her red mouth, and he had to clear his throat before he could speak again. “I’m here because I want to be.”

“Well of course. I can’t imagine you’d keep your job long if you hated it.”

He waved that away. “No, you don’t understand. I mean I want to be here with you. Part of the reason the screening process is so extensive is because we choose our clients. Jax and I—among others, rest assured—both chose you, so we were your two options.” His mouth quirked. “I’m glad I won.”

“Hmmm,” she said, thoughtfully. She tapped the swizzle stick from her drink against her lower lip. “Why me?”

“I don’t know.” He ducked his head. “I guess you intrigue me. You’re…a contradiction.”

“Am I?” she said, her voice warm with amusement.

He met her eyes and smiled. “You’re a very powerful woman.”

“I am,” she said without a trace of self-consciousness. “Is that what intrigues you? Bringing a powerful woman to her knees?”

“No,” he said. “Not in the way you mean it.” He rested his arms on the table and leaned closer. “I imagine for a woman like you, letting go isn’t easy. Trusting. Giving in.”

Her head tilted as she studied his serious face. There was something about him, something that made her think, as difficult as it could sometimes be for her to let go, she wouldn’t have that problem with him. “Have you known many women like me, Mr. Ortiz?”

“No,” he said again. Something in his look made her shiver, and brought the faintest trace of color to her cheeks. It was intense and probing, his eyes darker than ever, and she felt the heat of them on her skin like a rough caress. “I believe, Ms. Gable, that there are no other women like you.”

Her full lips curved. “Perhaps you should call me Olivia.”

“Olivia.” Now as his dark eyes caressed her she could almost feel it, like a physical touch. “Badass bitch in the boardroom; my sweet little slut in the bedroom. Right, kitten?”

She almost choked on a sip of her drink, and he smiled at the color creeping over her cheeks. “I suppose that’s right,” she said, softly. Her eyes met his, then dropped to the tablecloth. “Sir,” she whispered.

It was another week before she could schedule her first appointment with Juan Carlos. She set everything up through the website—a feature she could appreciate—and booked them a suite at the Ritz. There was no way she could have him at her apartment (her doorman knew her too well), and she wanted something a little more…public.

Not that she was afraid. If Tara used the service and recommended it, then Olivia knew there wasn’t anything to worry about. Still, she hadn’t made it this far by being reckless.

She spent the day fussing with the outfit she’d picked out. He’d contacted her by email earlier in the week and instructed her on what to wear: a sleek black dress, sexy but not flashy; tall black heels; and black lace lingerie that included a garter. He had also indicated she should wear her hair up, like at their first meeting.

They weren’t meeting until six, but she was dressed by five-thirty, and she couldn’t stop pacing. She fingered the string of pearls she wore at her neck—another of his instructions—and imagined his strong hand around her throat: big palm, long fingers, warm skin.

She shivered and clenched her thighs together. She’d been wet all afternoon, but she knew better than to do anything about it. His instructions had been clear.

Finally it was ten till. She grabbed her clutch and took the elevator down to the lobby. He was waiting for her in one of the plush chairs, and he rose to his feet when he saw her approaching. An almost predatory grin curved his lips, and Olivia felt her knees go weak.

“Ms. Gable,” he said, taking her offered hand and planting a kiss across her knuckles. “You look…perfect.”

She laughed. “Thank you, Mr. Ortiz. Shall we get a drink before we go up?”

“Lady’s pleasure,” he said and rested his hand on the small of her back to guide her toward the chic bar. He looked ridiculously handsome in his crisp black suit; the tailoring made him seem taller, his shoulders broader. More than one head turned as they entered the dimly-lit room and chose a table.

They ordered drinks and chatted, but later Olivia couldn’t have told anyone what they actually talked about. She could only think about what the night had in store. It had been a long time, and he was sexier than she would have thought possible. She needed this.

As if sensing her mood, he took a last sip from his glass and set it on the table. “Ready?” he murmured.

She could only nod. He smiled and waited while she signed the check, and together they crossed the lobby to the elevators.

Once upstairs, he unbuttoned his jacket and sat on the couch, spreading out like he belonged there. “Make me a drink, kitten,” he said, his voice at once commanding and casual.

Instantly she snapped into sub mode. The name he’d used before was like a switch in her head. She bit her lip to keep from whimpering (Already?? Get it together!! she told herself) and turned toward the wet bar.

“What would you like, Sir?” she said, her voice quiet.

“Scotch on the rocks. Oh, and kitty cat?” She glanced at him. “Take your hair down.”

She made the drink, brought it to him, and pulled the pins from her hair. A few strokes through with her fingers and it fell around her shoulders in bright waves.

“Beautiful,” he said, sipping. He leaned back and propped his feet on the table. “Pull your skirt up; I want to make sure you followed all of my directions.”

Her hands trembled as she tugged the skirt to her hips. He made a gesture that she should turn, and as she did he let out a soft whistle. “You have excellent taste, little cat.”

“Thank you, Sir. I wanted to look pretty for you.”

“You do.” He smiled and gestured to the floor beside him. “Kneel here for me while I enjoy my drink.”

Olivia tried to ignore the heat pooling in her belly as she knelt next to him. He petted her bowed head with a gentle hand and slowly sipped his drink while watching the city through the picture window. They didn’t speak. His fingers tightened in her hair and he tugged just a little.

“We’re clear on the safe words, sweetheart?” he said. “Repeat them for me, just to make sure.”

“Green means go,” she recited. “Yellow means slow down. Red means stop and move to something else. My safe word is juniper, and it means end the scene and go straight to aftercare.”

“That’s right. Good girl.” He gave her head another pat. “Stand up. Take off your dress.”

She rose and turned so that he could unzip her, and when she spun again the dress puddled to her feet. She kicked it away. He studied her carefully, his gaze hot as he examined her stocking-clad legs; the tiny scrap of lace between her thighs; the matching garter; and finally the barely-there lace bra.

“Your skin is exquisite. I can’t wait to leave my marks all over it,” he murmured, his voice huskier than before.

“I can’t either, Sir,” she breathed.

He smiled. “Go into the bedroom. Kneel on the bed and wait for me. I’ll be along eventually.”

“Yes, Sir!” she said, eagerly.

“Oh, and kitten?” he called after her. “I think you can get there on your knees. Don’t you?”