Adrianna's Undies (5 page)

“Yes,” she said. She could have lied, but one thing Adrianna was
not
was a liar. She was frank and honest to a fault—it was simply her nature.

“Throbbing?”

Damn it. “Yes, Tristan. Happy now?”

He gave a light, confident nod. “Getting there.”

In actuality, her pussy more than throbbed now—riding in a car in these panties made the pleasure knobs vibrate against her and she wondered if she could actually come that way. And if so, could she hide it? From Tristan? From the driver?

The shame of it was, under different circumstances, Adrianna would have loved nothing more than to wear the naughty undies for a lover, to feel so utterly, deeply pummeled with stimulation, even to let a stranger watch her pleasure. But being forced to submit to Tristan tonight changed all that, sent her into rebellion mode. It was the first time in her life she’d
hated
being aroused, and as the car pulled to a halt at a stoplight, the knob at her ass pressing tight and hard against the sensitive fissure there, she struggled not to gasp with pleasure even as she resented having to hold it in.

Tristan’s Armani-covered knee bumped hers when the car took off again and—for God’s sake—even that sent a new blast of need darting up her thigh.

Why isn’t he touching me? He knows I’m aroused. He purposely made it that way. So why the hell isn’t he…doing something? Caressing me. Kissing me. Anything.
Oh God. Not used to holding back, Adrianna realized in a sudden rush of clarity that she’d never been so frustrated in her life.

But did this mean she
wanted
him to touch her now? Was she giving in to her desires inside?

Only…no. She wasn’t—couldn’t. She was
glad
he hadn’t commenced touching her. What sucked was that she had momentarily thought she wanted him to. Since she, in fact, wanted nothing from him but to get through his night.

Keep telling yourself that. You want nothing from him but to get through this night and to know your company is safe.

Feel nothing, feel nothing. Feel nothing at all.

No matter how bad your cunt throbs or your breasts ache. Don’t feel it. Block it out. You can be stronger than your own arousal.

* * * * *

Tristan’s skin prickled with a lusty, masculine conceit as he followed Adrianna to their table at the steakhouse inside the huge pyramid-shaped Luxor Hotel and Casino. They’d had to walk through the casino part to reach it, and he’d enjoyed the way men looked at Adrianna tonight, enjoyed knowing he had something they wanted.

This wasn’t his usual everyday persona, but it turned out that taking control of Adrianna was about more than just the personal pleasure he sought. It gave him a rush that made him truly
feel
like her master tonight and as if that was an achievement to be envied and lauded by all of mankind.

Not that he was really controlling her all that much. Not yet, not the way he wanted. Wet pussy or not, she was still fighting him mentally—that much was clear. But she hadn’t protested so far, not strongly anyway, and she’d gone along with his demands, so all was proceeding as planned. A guy couldn’t break out the whips and chains with a woman like Adrianna in the first five minutes, after all. If he were truly to gain her submission, it would take finesse, and he was easing her there one slow, deliberate step at a time.

The steakhouse sported dark, sophisticated wood accented with black leather and subtle animal print fabrics—and seemed to Tristan about as close to setting the mood for domination as an upscale restaurant could come. As he’d requested when making the reservations, they were seated in a one of the round booths, also upholstered in black. Above it, a mural of Egyptian columns towered and he wondered if it might subliminally put his date in mind of the slaves who’d built them, of the concept of slavery and submission in general. Slow. Deliberate. Subtle.

He selected a pricy Cabernet from the wine list, then took the privilege of ordering Adrianna’s dinner, as well—both because he remembered she had a fondness for filet mignon and because he found it another subtle way to exert his power over her, get her acclimated to it.

Sitting next to him, she looked like a perfect female confection, everything any red-blooded male could fantasize about in a woman—a gorgeous face and long, wild, flowing hair; great tits, very appealingly on display in the dress he’d selected; and long, slender legs with enough muscle in them to know they’d wrap tight around his waist. The only thing wrong was her attitude—which continued to be obedient but still far from submissive. And she seemed slightly tense, too rigid. Which he remembered being traits of hers, but not when it came to fucking—there, no matter
who
was in control, she’d eventually relaxed and totally gotten into it. So even as he made moves to get her into that more submissive place, he also needed to get her mind off it, relax her.

“How’s your mother?” he asked, taking a sip of the rich, oaky red wine.

Next to him, she blinked, looking nonplussed. “Are you serious?”

He raised his eyebrows slightly, expectantly. “Yes, of course. Why?”

“You dress me up in slave-wear, strap my pussy into a torture device and ask me about my
mom
?”

He laughed. Okay, maybe she had a point—the question didn’t fit the context of the evening. “First of all, it’s only a torture device if you fight it, which I think you know very well. And second, you seem on edge, so I thought some normal conversation might help you relax.”

She let out what he perceived as a calming breath. “You’re right, I’m on edge—because I’m not comfortable in this arrangement, as
you
know very well. But I’m doing the best I can.”

“I know that, and I’m proud of you. So let’s just talk a little. How
is
your mom?”

“She’s fine, I suppose. The same.” But Adrianna looked distant, slightly troubled, and now he remembered why. “Still chasing after men, still desperate to find some Prince Charming who doesn’t exist. The only difference since you knew me before is that she has some money, from me, so now I have to worry more about love ’em and leave ’em gold diggers.”

He winced on her behalf. He’d had to worry about gold diggers a little himself in recent years. “Sorry—that sounds like a burden, especially with her being so far away. She
is
still in Michigan, I presume.”

“Yes, Ann Arbor, but my brother and his family are still there too, close by. And really, the distance is more of a blessing—I don’t have to witness this every day like when I was young.” Adrianna’s father, he recalled, had walked out on the family when she was a very little girl—five or so, if he remembered correctly—after which her mother had begun a relentless search for someone to replace him. Her desperation and unwillingness to stand on her own had always bothered Adrianna, almost to the point of repulsion.

“Is it so bad that she wants someone to love?” he dared ask. He could only imagine what it was like to be Adrianna’s mother, abandoned with two small children thirty years ago, and it saddened him a little to hear she still hadn’t found what she was looking for.

“It’s not bad, no,” Adrianna said. “But it’s not everything. A woman needs to have some pride, make a place for herself in the world. I love my mother, but she and I are very different.”

“Only a fool would argue that,” he replied with his most suave smile.

He got just the tiniest hint of a knowing smile in return. She still didn’t seem relaxed exactly—in retrospect, he’d chosen a poor topic for that—but she’d softened a little, at least in this particular moment.

Over dinner, he made
more
“normal” conversation—he complimented Adrianna on her achievements and asked her questions about her business, assuring her they had nothing to do with his professional interest in it. Although she didn’t ask, he told her how
his
career had progressed to where it was today, as well. He gave her updates on his parents and two sisters, whom she’d met several times on weekend trips home to St. Louis, and asked her to tell her mother he said hello the next time they spoke.

Despite all that, though, he remained aroused through the meal. It was fairly impossible to sit next to her, dressed as she was, and
not
be aroused. Even as they discussed something as innocuous as the merits of living in Los Angeles or her new office building, a vision of her cunt in those sinful crotchless panties would pop to mind, or a memory of her breasts perched high and firm above the corset he’d laced her into. Her nipples continued jutting prettily through that low-off-the-shoulder dress, so he knew
she
was still excited too.

“Fondue for dessert,” he told the waiter as their plates were being cleared.

“I’m not sure I can eat another bite,” she said, touching her palm to that lovely tummy. Which was bound in leather underneath, he reminded himself.

“You’ll eat it,” he said, quiet but firm, as the waiter departed.

She looked up, clearly a bit surprised to find they’d re-entered master and slave mode—but it was time to ease back in that direction. And the notion of fondue had given him some naughty ideas.

“
Won’t
you?” he insisted. He phrased it as a question, but his tone told her she’d better agree.

She hesitated only briefly before replying with a soft, “Yes,” that, for some reason, tightened his cock further.

The truth was, if this hadn’t been an exercise in teaching Adrianna a thing or two, he’d have her back in his room right now, spreading her legs, driving his stiff shaft deep inside. He’d be running his hands over every lovely inch of her curvy body. This little game he was playing required some discipline on his part, as well. But he remained convinced that if Adrianna could learn to
really, truly
let someone else take the lead, then later, both of them would reap the rewards.

* * * * *

Despite herself, she’d begun to relax, feel a little normal. Okay, yes, she still had those “pleasure knobs” rubbing at her in just the right—or wrong—places, but she sat very still, which helped lower the impact. And yes, she’d just had to tell him she’d eat fondue against her will, but big deal—it was a part of the game she could play without losing anything.

And sure, she still looked like a hooker and felt eyes all across the restaurant studying her—particularly a nearby table of four thirty-something businessmen—but eyes didn’t bother her all that much. What mattered right now here was staying relaxed, both physically and mentally. Not letting him get the best of her. Not
really
ever submitting to him on the
inside
. If she could come out of this with both her company and the knowledge she hadn’t
really
given in to him, in her heart and mind, it would be a win-win.

A pot of hot chocolate fondue arrived with a selection of bread and fruits. When—as Tristan dug in, dipping a chunk of apple into the chocolate—
she
only watched, he finally turned to her, placing a slice of banana on a skewer and slipping it into her hand. “Eat,” he said in that low, commanding voice of his. She hated that something in the sound made her pussy ripple—yet she had no choice but to dip the banana in the pot and take a bite.

The rich, decadent chocolate warmed her body and permeated her senses, and when she spotted Tristan’s gaze on her lips, it turned her breasts weighty, needy. Tristan pointed to the corner of his mouth, meaning there was chocolate on the corner of
hers
. With their gazes connected, she let her tongue dart out and lick it away, not realizing until afterward how sexy it probably looked, and how sexy it would
feel
with his eyes on her. Suddenly, any comfort she’d started to experience with him died away.

“Try one of the marshmallows,” he said.

So she did, dipping it in the chocolate before placing it atop a rectangular piece of graham cracker. “Mini-s’more,” she commented then took a delicious bite.

He looked amused, which also made him handsome. “How do you even know what a s’more
is
, Adrianna?”

“I’ve camped,” she said. “Once. Against my better judgment.”

He chuckled as she ate the rest. And then his humor faded, just as it had earlier—as if he suddenly remembered their arrangement and had decided he wasn’t making her submit to his will enough. His eyes went dark, demanding, the mood at their table changing completely as he said, “Spread your legs.”

Despite herself, she couldn’t help being surprised. It was so sudden. “What?”

“You heard me. Spread.”

It was as she followed the command, slowly parting her legs beneath the table, that she realized just how swollen her cunt had remained despite thinking she was relaxed and in control. Not so. The motion let her know that the flesh between her thighs remained just as needy as before dinner—possibly even more so.

She tensed, watching, as Tristan plucked up a plump, ripe strawberry, but rather than dipping in into the chocolate, he reached under the table, between her legs, and without ever touching his fingers to her skin, he smoothly raked the tip of the strawberry upward through her pussy.

She sucked in her breath audibly, aware that it drew the gazes of the suit-clad men a few feet away, but she kept her eyes on Tristan as he lifted the succulent piece of fruit to his mouth to take a big bite. Her face warmed, both from the slick but too-brief sensation and from wondering if Tristan could taste her wetness this way.

“
Mmm
,” he said after swallowing.

Can you taste it? Can you taste my cunt?
But she bit her tongue.
Don’t ask. Don’t care.

And as it turned out, she didn’t have to ask anyway, since he leaned near her ear to say, “Your pussy juice is a better condiment than any fondue, my dear Adrianna. Now spread wider for me. I’m hungry and I want more.”

Taking a deep breath, Adrianna spread her legs even wider—wide enough that she could feel her pussy parting, opening, wide enough that the cool air circulating through the room seemed to give her wet flesh a kiss.

This time, when Tristan reached under the table with another strawberry, he stroked it upward through her cunt more slowly. It felt like a tongue. She had to bite her lip, clench her muscles, not to cry out. Mmm, God, she needed more down there—his hand, his hard cock. She needed more than just something stroking through her folds—she needed something in her
deep
.