Against the Ropes
Page 81

All the blood in my body races downward. Moisture pools between my thighs. I surreptitiously flip up the back of my skirt and take my seat. The soft, silk chair cover is cool on my heated skin. Naughty sensations ripple through my core. I am going to ruin this chair, and I can hardly wait.
Wine is poured and the parade of tiny, artfully presented dishes arrives, starting with a caviar and egg thing. Yech. Fish eggs. Disgusting. I brush the tiny, black, gel-like mass off the egg with my fork.
“That’s the best part,” my dinner companion points out. Seated to my left, he is tall and slim, with thinning, silver hair and a long nose. He has a shiny gold tooth and thick glasses. He looks familiar, but I can’t place him.
Max slides his hand under my skirt and traces lazy circles up my inner thighs. I glance down to ensure his naughty meanderings are hidden by the tablecloth. My relief is short-lived. His fingers reach their target. I jump in my seat and squeal.
“You really have an aversion to caviar,” Gold Tooth chuckles.
Max strokes his finger along my folds. “This one is quite wet.”
“True. I do prefer mine dry.”
Breathe. In. Out. Slow. Easy. My teeth are clenched so tight the Jaws of Life couldn’t pry them apart. Yet another phrase to add to the “How to Intensely Arouse Makayla” list.
My white wine is replaced with red. Food comes and goes. I talk to Gold Tooth’s wife about the hospital and the lack of funding. The table conversation turns to whether children should be allowed two or three horses each and where the best place is to buy a fourth home. Max’s fingers continue their incessant stroking, slicking through my folds and around my swollen nub. Sweat trickles down my back. My body is coiled so tight I am sure I will detonate.
When Max’s finger slides inside me, I can’t stifle my gasp. My hips jerk at the unexpected intrusion, and every nerve in my body jolts into awareness.
“I thought I saw the president,” I explain when everyone looks at me. Heads turn in the direction of my gaze, and I slap Max’s hand away. He pushes out his chair.
“I think we’ll step outside for a breath of air before the next course.” Max excuses us and escorts me out of the tent.
Five minutes later, we are locked away inside a small storage room at the end of a long, marble hallway. The room is packed with music stands, boxes, musical instruments, and an assortment of costumes hung from a rail attached to chains in the ceiling. A mirror, a big table, and a few chairs fill the rest of the dusty space.
Max locks the door and turns to give me a wicked grin. “Alone at last.”
“How did you find this place?”
“Advance scouting.”
“You planned this in advance?”
Max wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me into his chest. “I like to be prepared for all eventualities.”
“What if I didn’t want to play your game?”
“You always want to play, baby. That’s what I like about you.” He slides his hand under my dress and along my wet folds.
“Bad Max. I can’t believe you did that at the table.”
“Bad Makayla,” Max whispers, his breath hot and moist in my ear. “Running around a big society event without any panties. You need to be punished.” He spins me around and pushes me down on the table. My br**sts and belly press tight again the hard surface. He flips up my skirt and runs his warm hand over my cheeks. “You have such a beautiful ass, baby. It just begs to be spanked.”
I glare at him over my shoulder. “Don’t you dare.”
“You showed it to the world. Why shouldn’t I get a little bit more?”
Oh God. Charlie was right. He is pissed at me. I naively thought he was going to let it slide.
He holds me down with a firm hand on my back. My heart beats frantically against the table, and I shudder so violently my teeth chatter. “No. You’re angry. Please. Not when you’re angry.”
“What’s your safe word?”
My entire body goes rigid. My lungs tighten so hard I can barely speak. “Ag—”
Something soft and fluffy tickles my legs, running over the backs of my thighs and then down again. Soft, sensual, and very arousing. My breath whooshes out of me and I slump on the table.
“What is that?” I look back over my shoulder. Max grins and holds up a giant feather duster. He tickles it along the juncture of my thighs, and I squirm on the table as abject terror becomes abject need.
“More?” he whispers, brushing the soft feathers along my folds.
I moan at the delicious sensation. “More.”
Max puts down the duster and removes all the costumes from the rail. He tugs on a rope at the side of the wall and the rail lifts into the air, swinging back and forth on the chains.
“Go hold on to the rail, baby. I won’t restrain you this time. Something is going on with you and until you tell me what it is, the farthest I’ll go is honor bondage.”
“Honor bondage? Sounds like a bad Japanese film.”
Max snorts a laugh. “Go. Stop cracking jokes. You’re spoiling the mood.”
“What mood?” I ask as I round the table. “The Makayla pretends to be a monkey on a flying trapeze mood? I had other ideas about what might happen in here.”
The sound of Max wheezing in a breath startles me. I spin around just as he doubles over with laughter and clutches his stomach. Yes. I pump my fist in the air. I cracked the uncrackable Max.
“Stop looking at me,” he barks. “Go and hold on to the rail.”