The Willing (8 page)

He flashed a grin. "Why do you think I'm giving them away for free?"

I took a swig, trying to be obliging for once. At least it was cool. That was about all the good I had to say about the bitter, fizzy concoction. "In fairness, I've never been much of a beer drinker..."

Hunter's shoulders shook as he laughed at the grimace pulling down the corners of my lips. "Yeah, let's blame it on that. You're working tonight, huh?"

Denial was my first instinct, if only because I didn't have a job for Madam Madrigal and almost said as much. Then I realized that wasn't true. I was scheduled to work this evening—for Oliver, at his apartment. I nodded.

"Nervous?"

"What did I just say about Jedi mind tricks?" I quipped, aiming for levity and falling well short. It still confused me when people turned out to read me so easily. But that was Hunter in a nutshell: too clever for his own good. Back at the club, most clients—usually female—picked him because he looked like he could toss them about with one hand. Only later did they discover that he paired physical strength with a knack for getting into people's heads and turning them inside out.

I used to think that if he'd been born with different ambitions, he might have ended up as a Bond villain.

Hunter disregarded my retort. "If you're nervous, maybe you shouldn't do it. Whatever 'it' is."

I could feel his eyes on my face, studying me, fretting for me. "That's not an option."

"Jo—"

"No one's got me by the short hairs," I said, mostly to assure him. It was the truth, again, if only in so far as I'd picked the lesser evil between poverty and servicing a man I was maybe a little bit afraid of. Okay, a
lot
afraid of.

Hunter's gaze lingered. He wasn't convinced. "Nothing you'd like."

"What?"  

"You asked about new haunts," he reminded me, voice thick with defeat behind the rim of the beer bottle. "There have been a few, but none you'd like. If we had enough cash between us, I'd say we should open one ourselves, but..."

He didn't have to complete the thought. "I bought an apartment," I said, attempting to erase the grim look that loitered in the shadows of his face.

The effect was immediate. "No kidding? Where?" I told him about the apartment and the layout and the changes I wanted to make. I'd already picked the colors I wanted for the walls and kitchen, but was a little stuck on how to furnish it. "If you want, I can always lend a hand," Hunter offered. "I'll feng shui the shit out your bedroom."

"I can't tell if that's supposed to be a pick-up line..."

His shoulder nudged mine. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Jo."

"That'll be the day," I snorted. "Seriously, though... would you?"

"What?"

"Help me get settled into the new apartment?" The more I thought about it, the more I appreciated the possibility. It could be fun. I knew Carrie would volunteer to lend a hand, but with a baby on the way I didn't want her to tire herself out. "I was thinking I could move in sometime next weekend, maybe?"

Hunter nodded. "Yeah, that's cool for me. I'm free most days until, like, six."

On impulse, I reached over, fisted a hand around his nape and planted a kiss to his cheek. The scratchy rasp of his stubble was pleasantly coarse against my lips. "You're way too awesome." I felt gratified to see him blush hotly. He had given me so much that my gratitude was more than deserved, to say nothing of compliments.

"Okay, okay. You're getting all mushy on me." He brushed me off, making a face. "Ugh, girl cooties."

"You know you love it," I retorted.

Hunter shook his head and took another swig of not-really-beer. "Yeah, kinda. So does this new job have something to do with you crawling through haunted houses?"

"Huh?" That had to be the weirdest question he'd ever asked me—including that one time he'd openly questioned whether or not I knew how to put on a strap-on.

"There are dust bunnies in your hair."

I reached up a hand. "Seriously? Oh man, I thought I got them all out..."

Hunter plucked a wispy, grey-white tangle out of my curly wig to show me. "And here I thought it was done on purpose. It's very dashing… kind of crazy cat-lady chic, you know?"

If I'd had better aim, I would have smacked his knee. As it stood, I only got thin air and fought to stay still while Hunter fussed over me. "Explains the weird looks on the subway," I mused. "Is there more?"

Together and over the space of many minutes in the half-light of the bar, we managed to make me look more or less presentable. It was just as well because my first glance at my wristwatch revealed I'd wasted the two hours I'd depended on to get ready. Granted, talking to Hunter was hardly wasted time, but it still left me running against the clock.

"You look fine," Hunter insisted.

"Yeah?"

He nodded firmly, and then thought to amend: "You always look beautiful."

I left
Malachi's
with a shit-eating grin and a spring in my step. In my line of work, compliments like that usually came with a hefty price tag. I took a taxi to Oliver's, trying hard not to feel like the driver could divine my purpose with every glance in the rearview mirror.

Oliver was waiting for me when the elevator eased to a stop outside the penthouse door. "What did I say about punctuality?"

"My watch stopped," I said, arms folded across my chest lest he should reach for my wrist and check. He could; I'd seen last night that he had no compunction putting his hands on a woman without so much as a by-your-leave. "I can't be more than five minutes late."

"Four, actually."

"Well, don't have a coronary," I drawled. "Still want me or do I get to go home and watch
America's Next Top Model
?"

Oliver held my gaze for a long, protracted moment, then slowly stepped out of the way. Tonight he'd chosen to dress in slacks and a white shirt: no tie, no jacket. He looked like a dressed down version of so many magazine covers that I wondered if he even knew how to look relaxed anymore. Sometimes, he didn't seem wholly human, like the parts of him that were susceptible to look familiar to us mere mortals had been chiseled away to leave room for this larger than life idol who bestowed grace and punishment in equal part.

Meanwhile, I'd stopped by in ripped jeans and a red cashmere cardigan, my shoes scuffed from walking around the city all day. We were wearing the wrong costumes for the parts we had chosen to play. I could see similar hesitation darkening Oliver's face. It wasn't my place to call things off, though; if he got cold feet, he had to be the one to send me on my way.

"Are we doing this?" I asked, canting my head back to meet his eyes.

He only faltered for the space of a breath. "Yes." And with that he turned, starting to lead the way up the stairs. I almost let him.

"Wait." I watched him freeze, one foot already upon the step. "I want to see confirmation that you've made the first transfer." This wasn't a hook-up between friends and I wasn't some girl he'd picked up in a club, wooed by his charms and good looks; I was in it solely for the size of his wallet and the promise of a pay check.

That had to be the deal.

I tried not to think of Hunter or what he'd make of me asking a client directly for money. We'd had a better system back at the club, but thanks to Oliver's interference, all that was gone now. I had to make do with what I had.

Oliver smirked. "So little trust…" He stepped obligingly enough into the sitting room. "I would have thought you'd already check for yourself before you came here."

A safe assumption, but I'd been gallivanting around town all afternoon and hadn't even thought about the money in more than abstract sense until now. I stopped short of saying as much to Oliver. He already knew too much about me and my innumerable flaws. I didn't want him thinking I was completely incompetent.

He held out a tablet to me, its screen showing a transfer of one thousand dollars performed at noon today, from his account to mine. "You realize you have to pay taxes on that, right?" Oliver asked me.

"No, I was born yesterday. Please explain how basic economics works."

His brows shot up.

"I'm sorry," I said, recanting. "I don't take well to condescension." Was it the evidence that he was a man of his word that had me so short and pithy all of a sudden? Or was it more than that? I tried not to dwell, but I knew that now money had exchanged hands, I had to deliver on yesterday's promise.

I handed back the tablet. "Let's go."

There was a role I used to inhabit after the club: every time I worked a job I didn't particularly like or had a boss I couldn't stand, I'd imagine myself back in my leather get-up, in charge and in control. Sometimes I would even manage to believe it.

Chapter five

"Close the door," I urged softly and watched Oliver obey without delay. He could be a contrary little shit but occasionally, he proved to have a talent for taking orders. Simple commands worked best, from what I'd noticed, so I added: "Take off your clothes."

His silver-grey eyes met mine, if only briefly. I crossed over to the bed while he busied himself with undressing. The starched sheets looked too white, too expensive for our play. I tried not to think about soiling them.

Oliver had selected a bold number of toys tonight. I counted a blindfold, a pair of nipple clamps and a black riding crop. No flogger, no paddle. No dildos, as promised. No handcuffs, either, though restraints I could fashion out of his belt and mine, if need be.

I turned around to find him standing in the center of the room wearing only his briefs. He had removed his socks, but the brand name underwear stayed on, as if he was uncomfortable with me seeing him naked. I didn't press the point.

"Do you remember your safe word?"

Oliver gave a slow, decisive nod.

It wouldn't do. "I'd like to hear you say it," I clarified, picking the crop up off the bed and running my hand over the fine leather tip.

"Yes… I remember my safe word."

"What is it?"

The routine could only help us get into the swing of things, but all the same I expected a bit of pushback from my presumptive submissive. It usually happened, even with trained subs; they needed time to give up control. Some scoffed, others grumbled that I took things too slowly. By rights, any man with half as many control issues as Oliver should have proved to be my biggest challenge yet.

"Apologies," he said, ducking his head. "Red to stop, yellow to slow down. Green if I want you to continue." Oliver's delivery was swift, unburdened by hesitation.

For a second there, I was completely thrown. Then I recalled that Oliver had probably fantasized about this enough that he had an entire script prepared in his head. I imagined he'd watched porn to prepare—or maybe chatted up some would-be dommes online. I didn't actually think he'd ventured into clubs like the one he'd helped shut down to find someone willing to top him.

He wasn't the type. This wasn't a lifestyle for him, just a fantasy.

I still didn't understand what he was doing, playing this game with me, but now wasn't the time to try and figure things out.

"Kneel." Tempting as it was to call him names, I decided to take things slowly. Better to shock him with vulgarity at the right time, than waste my breath on insults that could always tip him over into resistance. I set the crop back down on the bed as Oliver did as he was told.

As I faced him, I almost thought I heard him heave a sigh of disappointment. Nothing showed on his face; he'd trained his expression to appear perfectly blank of expectation or demand. I didn't mistake that for actual submission.

I picked the blindfold up and off the bed.
That
got his attention and I saw his eyes flick up to meet mine before he remembered himself.

Definitely self-conscious
, I thought, but he was coping better than most of my first time clients. "Close your eyes," I ordered and found my breaths a little short with how quickly, how effortlessly he seemed to comply. Tying the blindfold behind his head gave me an opportunity to rake my fingers through his fine, copper-colored hair and drag my fingernails over his scalp. I kept them short for this very reason; fun as pain play could be when I took a lover to bed, I had no desire to cause anyone undue discomfort.

Not even Oliver. 

This time, I was sure I heard him breathe out long and hard through his nose. He was on edge with the sense of anticipation. He must have been gearing up for this all day.

"You could've picked anything, you know. A feather… rope for a bit of Japanese bondage play. But no, you had to go for the riding crop," I murmured tenderly in his ear. "Now I have to use it."

Oliver shifted a little, hips adjusting where they lay propped up on his heels. He had good posture, but I could tell he hadn't done this much. He was all stiff, playing at submission more than feeling it down to the marrow of his bones. I wasn't put off; this was something I could work with.

My hand slid to his nape, holding him there for a long moment. "Do you need to be punished, Oliver?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?" I hissed sharply.

He winced at the pressure of my tight-gripping fist, his own hands going white-knuckled with the strain of holding himself still. To his credit, though, he didn't try to shake me off or raise a hand to shift my hold. I had to bite back a moan of my own at the vivid, tight-laced tension I could feel thrumming through his body. Had to admit he looked sexy like this.

"Yes,
ma'am
." It cost him, that forced show of respect, of surrender, but it wasn't a sacrifice without merit. I saw him lick his lips, pink tongue darting out as if he could still taste the word once it was spoken.

The thought of kissing him, of fucking his mouth with my tongue flashed through my mind, unbidden. I pushed it aside as I bent close to whisper in his ear: "remember that."

I was on my feet and away from him before he could recover. The absence of my hands on him was bound to take its toll, shake him a little. I padded carefully out of his reach as I shrugged off my cardigan and kicked off my shoes. The carpet already muffled most sounds, but I wanted to be invisible to him, my footsteps lost to silence. He needed to be taken out of his head; if he focused on a stranger's hands on him, he'd stay stubbornly tethered and try to please me. It was an appealing prospect, one that I could feel heating my loins. Better not to confuse my purpose here.