I just blink at him. He wants me to masturbate? Here?
“Hurry up, girl. I’m waiting.’
“I—I can’t, Mr. Asher,” I say, breaking the Master rule so he knows I need some leeway right now. “Really, I’m not kidding. I hardly ever come when I masturbate without a vibrator.”
“Do you have a vibrator inside?”
“No—”
“Then you are shit out of luck, girl. Not put your f**king fingers between your legs, stick them inside your pu**y, and make yourself come.”
I draw in a deep breath and try to decide if I want to continue with this.
I do. I can’t f**king help it. I do. I want him to f**k me, dammit. And not just because he’s Vaughn Asher, the man I’ve fantasized about for years, but because I’m so damn horny, I just need it!
My hand dips down to my legs, but a voice on the next path makes me freeze. I look up at Asher and he’s smiling. Asshole.
“Keep going, Grace.”
He’s confusing me with the name thing. He’s calling me Grace, but he’s not being sympathetic to my situation at all. I take a steadying breath and begin to stimulate myself. I watch him intently as I do it. I picture him naked to get myself wet, and then I picture him on top of me, kissing me with that delicious mouth of his. And now that I think about it, I’ve gotten myself off to his image hundreds of times. At least. And here he is in front of me, in the flesh. In the rock-hard flesh.
“Your c**k is hard, Asher,” I say, surprising myself.
He just smiles.
“Your c**k is hard and my pu**y is so, so wet. You have no idea what you’re missing. You can stand there and stare all you want, that’s fine with me. Because I’ve got what you want, even if you refuse to admit it right now. You’re going to watch me play with my clit, then you’re going to go back to your room and jerk off, thinking about me doing this. So I’m the one in control now, Asher. I’m the one—”
He drops my bag and walks towards me.
I gulp and keep going.
“I’m the one being satisfied, Asher. I’m the one in control, because I’m the one who will make you masturbate when you leave. So there. I win.”
He cups my face in his hands. More voices and laughter come from off to the left. The rain has let up now and the place is getting busy again. “Miss Kinsella, would you like me to let you win this one?”
I nod. “I would. I really, really would.”
“Will you agree to be a good girl for the next command, Grace? If I let you have your way at this moment? No matter what I ask?”
I know the answer to this, and that answer is no. No, no, no! He’s setting me up, I can feel it. But I have a hard time saying no to people in the best of situations and right now all I want is to be spared the public humiliation of being caught touching myself by strangers. But at the same time, I really want to keep the game going. So of course, I say, “Yes, I will. I will, Mr. Asher. I swear. If you want I’ll go inside and give it a try in my room. You can even watch, but I won’t be—”
“Shh,” he says with a finger to my lips. And then he leans down and kisses me gently. His tongue slips in slightly, but not far. Just a small, tender kiss that makes my whole body melt like butter. “You win then. OK?”
He pulls back, his strong hands gently resting on my shoulders, the back of his hand lightly sweeping up and down my cheek as he takes me in. “You win. Now inside is a box. Open it and follow all the directions.”
He leans down and kisses me again and then goes back, retrieves my bag, and then slips it up my arm until it rests on my shoulder. He uses my key card to open my door, waving me in with a flourish of his hand.
I step across the threshold and let out a long breath of relief when I see a prettily wrapped box on the bed. When I turn to ask him what it is, all I see is his back as he makes his retreat.
Chapter Seventeen
ThatListIsGettingLong
THE box is large, white, has a black bow, and everything about it says it’s expensive.
I squeal after I close the door and then skip over to the bed and almost touch the precious, perfect gift box before remembering I’m a filthy mess of naked mud.
I run to the bathroom and look in the mirror.
Je-sus Christ. He saw me like this. I’m a f**king mess! I’ve got mud streaked down my whole body, my hair is a rat’s nest of tangles and that’s not easy to do with hair as straight as mine. I run the shower and jump in. I’m not sure how long I have before I need to meet him, so I wash quickly and wrap myself up in a large plush towel. I wrap my hair up next and then walk back out to the room and take in the box for real.
Yes, it’s definitely out of my price range. And I’m just talking about the wrappings. God only knows what he’s got inside.
I walk slowly over to it, circle it a little, like it’s a dangerous animal.
When did he have time to buy me a present?
I pull on the thick black loop of satin and it slides so easily, the bow practically dissolves with one slight tug. I push it off to the side and then lift off the lid. It comes off with a whoosh of air, and then it’s a flurry of white tissue paper. I rip the little sticker holding the two ends of tissue together, eager to see what kind of present a movie star gives a submissive on their second meeting, and have to gasp as I pull out the skirt and blouse.
The skirt is white flirty chiffon. It’s short. Like very short. The blouse is white, crisp tailored cotton—very classic—like all the women were wearing last night at the wedding. There’s a thick black belt that settles high on the waist to make the legs look longer once it’s on.