Comfort Object (15 page)

But I didn't mind, because it was incredibly erotic to be dressed by him. He selected everything carefully, studying me with his cool blue eyes as Madame smoothed the corsets and adjusted the garters. She pointed out the embellishments and features of each garment she produced.

“You see, Monsieur, how beautifully this presents her décolletage,” she would point out, and he would agree, running his fingertips over the tops of my rounded breasts thrust above the silk.

Or she would run her hand just beneath the seams of the fine French panties she slid up my legs, pointing out how they exposed the perfect silhouette of the curve of my ass. And he would cup my ass and agree with her in a perfectly normal, modulated voice. “
Yes, they suit her well
.”

I wanted to beg on my hands and knees for sex.

He hadn't touched me since that first night I'd moved into his house. I don't know why he chose not to, and he didn't explain. I hoped that he was just too busy, and I had my own tasks to accomplish before we left, friends to contact, finances to put in order. Still, I waited to be summoned to his room every time he arrived at the house. I would have given anything on earth just to be ordered to suck his cock.

So now, with his gaze all over me in the opulent, private dressing room, I found my breath growing short and my clit growing wet. When Madame finally left us to attend to another customer, Jeremy urged her to take her time. My pussy throbbed as he moved closer to me.

I had on a rum pink bra with small, sexy stays cupping my tits and a matching waist cincher. An intricate garter belt held up silk stockings in the same dusky shade of pink. He didn't say anything in the way of preliminaries, just reached between my thighs and parted me, thrusting his fingers so deep inside that I nearly lost my balance. I clung to him, righting myself, and tried not to moan. He nuzzled me.

“You're killing me, Nell.”

Then I did moan as his fingers slipped out of my slick center to pinch and tease my hard, wet clit. If anyone were killing anyone, it was Jeremy.

“Have you made yourself come since you left my bedroom?” he asked.

“No, Jeremy,” I said, and I was glad I hadn't, because in my current condition I would have been unable to lie.

“Good girl. I want you to come now.”

Oh Jesus, how I ached to, but my mind flew to the flimsy curtain separating Jeremy and me from Madame and the other customers outside in the boutique.

“You don't worry about that.” He stroked me, separating and probing my labia. I looked up at him, wide-eyed. “You just worry about doing as I ask.”

“Yes, Jeremy,” I whispered.

“Hold on to me. Put your hands on my shoulders if you think you're going to fall.”

I reached for him, closed my fingers over his muscular shoulders. I could feel his arms move under my hands as he manipulated me. I was torn between running my fingers all over his shoulders and chest and giving myself up to the growing pleasure at my core. I pressed my forehead against the front of his sweater. “Jeremy.” My voice came out a whisper.

“Come on.” I drew in a deep breath. I relaxed and pushed my hips against his fingers. “Yes, that's right,” he said. “More. I want you to moan.”

I threw a wild look at the curtain, then turned pleading eyes on him.

“I want moans, girl.” I recognized the obdurate expression already, knew he wouldn't bend. I buried my face in his chest and let the moans come.

And with his fingers, he kept drawing me closer and closer to that terrifying edge of climax, the terrifying loss of control. I just didn't know if I'd be able to let go, here, in Madame's dressing room on Rodeo Drive with a curtain the only thing between us and the people outside. My quiet sounds rose in intensity. I shuddered against his front.

“Do it. Obey me.”

He stroked and fondled me so my hips moved and swayed of their own accord. His fingers slid over my clit, lubricated by the juices that, by now, soaked the garment I wore. My soft, urgent sounds were uttered against soft gray cashmere. I rode his broad hand spread between my legs. As my orgasm drew closer, my movements grew wilder, undisciplined.

“Hurry,” his voice rasped in my ear, “or she'll return just as you're coming. Won't you look like a horny slut then?”

I whimpered, and my clit pulsed. His fingers manipulated, scratched, probed. His other hand came around the back of my neck to draw my lips to his. He kissed me deeply, his fingers pressing even deeper inside me at the same time.

“Oh.” I moaned into his mouth. “Oh God.”

“Yes, be a good girl. Come for me. Now.”

He pinched my nipple through the bra, once, twice, a third time. I wanted to come; I had to come. I knew I had to let go. The pressure in my center was unbearable. It was painful anticipation, an urge that couldn't be realized.

“Please!” I begged against his lips.

“Now. Now, girl!” he whispered. He bit my tongue softly and pulled me close to him, drove his fingers deep inside.

“Oh, oh! Ohhhhh—” He caught my cries of orgasm with his mouth pressed hard over mine. I bucked against him, and he worked my clit while the waves of pleasure took me. It went on and on, sharp, undulating sensation. By the end I clung to his neck, far too weak to stand of my own accord.

“Oh, Jeremy!” He shushed me and slowly drew his sodden fingers out of my slit and up the front of the garter belt and cincher I wore. I watched the broad, blunt fingers slide against the delicate pink material and then snake around my hip. I peered up into avid blue eyes. He looked down at me with an expression I couldn't quite read.

“Thank you, Jeremy,” I whispered.

“Don't thank me. I did that for me.”

“Monsieur,” came Madame's muted voice from outside the curtain. “Will Mademoiselle be needing any more things?”

Mademoiselle got plenty more things, but all Mademoiselle could think about was whether Madame could smell the scent of sex in the air when she came back in to continue the fitting, or notice the carnal promise in Jeremy's eyes as he continued staring at me. If she noticed the sharp smell of female arousal permeating the small room, she was too professional to let it show. She laid the set I had on, smeared with my essence, on the purchase pile. From then on, each time she produced panties, I stood stiffly to keep from soaking the gussets, while Jeremy looked on with a smile. When she produced a thong, I asked to be excused to the powder room first.

We were there another hour before Jeremy finished shopping and instructed Madame to have it delivered to the house. “
Tonight
,” he specified. “
We leave tomorrow on a long trip
.”

From the way he hustled me into the car and dragged me home, I thought I'd at least be giving him a blowjob as soon as we got inside, but he left me without a word and went off to do other things. I spent the rest of the afternoon packing and double-checking everything with Kyle and Bonita's help. I'd be living out of a suitcase for the next four months, and I wanted to get it right.

While I packed late into the night and Kyle ran around like a chicken with its head cut off, Jeremy went to a “bon voyage” dinner with some friends. I wasn't invited, but I understood completely. By the time he got home after midnight, I didn't hold out much hope that he'd ask for me. By twelve thirty I had brushed my teeth and headed to bed.

I set my alarm and looked over once more at my suitcases, packed and ready to go in the corner. Just as I put my head on the pillow I heard a soft knock.

He opened the door without waiting for a response. He stood watching me for a long while, and I sat still where I was. He was completely dressed, and he didn't look amorous; he looked irate. I was suddenly terrified he'd come to tell me it was all over, that he didn't want me after all.

“What is it?” I finally said, when I couldn't stand another second of anxiety.

“Are you all packed?”

“Yes, Jeremy.”

“We leave tomorrow.”

“Yes, I know.”

He was agitated, anxious.

“What can I do, Jeremy?” I asked softly in the silence.

He strode over to the bed with a frustrated sigh and sat down on the edge of it.

“I want to fuck you now, but I didn't want it to be like this, late, when you're tired and I'm tired. You know, the first time.”

Oh God. He wanted it to be special. I didn't know whether to snicker or start bawling again.

“You looked so beautiful today, and I've wanted you so badly, but I've been busy. All this stuff at work, stuff I have to do to get ready for the shoot.” He waved his hands and grimaced. “Anyway, I don't know why I'm babbling about it to you. It's not your problem.”

“It's my job to make you feel better, right? So you can say whatever you like. Vent away.”

He smiled crookedly at me. “Good little worker. Yes. I remember.”

I looked down at my hands. “I'm yours, Jeremy. You know that. I'm yours to use. If you want to talk to me now, I'm happy to listen to you talk—”

“I don't want to talk,” he said curtly. He reached out and cupped my cheek with his hand.

“I'm in my ratty old pajamas. I'm not really dressed for—”

“I don't give a fuck how you're dressed.”

“I'm yours,” I whispered again, and I meant it.

“I had a whole scene planned,” he said. “With cuffs and a very strict leather strap. A silk corset.” His hands closed around my waist. I felt them tighten a little. “A matching ball gag.”

“I don't like to be gagged.”

“Don't you?” he asked, staring at my lips. “In hotels they're a necessary evil, I'm afraid. How else will we muffle your screams?”

He was half kidding, relaxing at last.

“I'm not much of a screamer. I'm more of a crier,” I said. “Sometimes I plead.”

Jeremy laughed. “I can already see you're going to be trouble. I knew it all along.”