In my mind the Kage painting in Jake’s gallery loomed large. I had been looking at it right before—
Before he touched me, my body said. Before he grabbed me and kissed my neck—
The lines of his letters, green and gold—
Like Jake’s eyes, burning into mine. His fingers, hooking the hem of my dress and lifting it—
My fingers moved with an ever increasing rhythm under the water.
Back in Iowa, I’d touched myself as quietly as possible. When I came, I stuffed my face into a pillow and muffled the scream. Here, though, every little sigh of mine echoed in the bathroom. At first it startled me, but then I began to enjoy being able to be loud.
“Ohh,” I moaned softly. My hands moved frantically between my legs, and my body ached for release. I closed my eyes, and again—
Kage, each letter a curling line intertwined with the others—
Jake, his lips hot on my neck, his finger thrusting into me—
I caught myself sliding down into the tub. My toes curled, pressed into the obsidian. I twisted, needing more—
Needing him—
And then I came, the climax fading as soon as it had arrived. I slumped back against the tub, breathing hard, the water steaming white like I was outside in winter. Even though I’d brought myself to orgasm, it wasn’t enough. I felt like there was something missing—
Jake, his eyes green and gold—
And I couldn’t figure out what it was I wanted. Frustrated, I splashed water over the sides of the tub.
“Argh!” I cried. I stood up then, letting the water drip down my body and puddle on the tile as I walked out of the bathroom. I didn’t want to look at myself. I didn’t want to ask myself questions that I couldn’t answer.
In the privacy of my bedroom, I yanked open the dresser drawers. There was lingerie laid out for me, all in my size. I wondered idly if he kept all sizes. Maybe next week he would have to pull out the size zero dresses and the B-cup bras. The thought stabbed like a physical pain through my chest. I grabbed the plainest looking bra and panty set and slammed the drawer shut.
Why was I doing this to myself? Before I’d talked with Steph, things had been so simple. I would go along with Jake’s orders, and that was all. Now, I was struggling to think about whether or not he wanted me, about whether he was regretting asking me to stay at all. I cringed to think about what would happen next week when I left.
“You’re not his girlfriend,” I said through gritted teeth. “You’re not even his escort. All you are is a playtoy. A playtoy with a check for a year’s worth of rent. So don’t go messing it up by getting all emotional.”
Steph said he was in love with you.
I growled at myself and turned to open the closet. He had bought me clothes. Not just any kind of clothes, though. I tore through the hangers, anger bubbling up inside of me.
Dresses.
All dresses.
I sighed. I would rather be naked than wear dresses. Maybe that’s what he was counting on. I opened the dresser drawers. There was nothing inside but lingerie. Back to the closet. The only other thing there was a terrycloth robe.
“You want to give me dresses to wear?” I said, talking to myself as I pulled the robe out of the drawer and shrugged it on. “Fine. I’ll figure something else out.”
It was definitely more comfortable than a dress. And yet, when I left the bedroom, I felt a twinge of guilt. Should I dress up for him? He had given me a selection to choose from, after all. Would he be upset if I didn’t want to wear them?
“Oh for God’s sake,” I said, snapping myself out of my thoughts. “He can darn well order me to wear a dress, if it’s that important to him.”
And for a brief moment, I thought that I would be happy if he gave me that order.
Chapter Four
By the time I got out of the bedroom, my stomach was growling. I looked forward to having another leisurely meal with Jake. Chocolate chip pancakes, maybe. We could sit and talk, and maybe I would ask him about that storage room, or about his family.
But it wasn’t to be.
When I ventured out into the hallway, I heard plates clinking. I wandered down the hall, following the aroma of coffee to a kitchen. I pulled the robe around me, tying it tightly. I thought that Jake might pull the tie open. He might take my robe off—
“Shut up, Lacey,” I said. “It’s enough that he’ll be here with you. Don’t get stupid over him.”
The breakfast table had been set out perfectly. The tablecloth was a shimmering ivory, and two plates had been laid out with napkins folded carefully on each one. A glass carafe of orange juice sat next to the silver pot of coffee. Stacks of pancakes filled a serving tray, and another tray heaped over with eggs and bacon. And in the middle of the table, a branch of orchids was arranged casually in a black ceramic vase. It was a work of art.