Although several of his guests are in the other rooms, Mr. B’s new table has attracted at least ten other people. Of course, they might all be more interested in using said table rather than watching it in use. As Mr. B praises Jace’s work, I sneak off to the side and pull my phone out of my strapless bra, checking to make sure my mother hasn't messaged me. I have one text, but it's from Jamie.
11:13 PM: The suspense is KILLING ME. How’s it going? Is the hot guy from Jace’s workshop getting his rocks off in that Louis XIV room again? You. Are. Killing. Me.
“You’re crazy, friend,” I mutter under my breath. I snap a quick picture of myself with one eyebrow raised and my lips twisted to the side. Typing a condensed version of our conversation from the pancake restaurant from a couple of months ago—Cages and butt plugs and metal tables, oh my—I send both to her in a private message on Snapchat. I slide my phone back inside of my bra and rejoin Jace.
He lifts a black tendril off my shoulder, sliding it between his fingertips. “Unless you want to watch the table in action, we can leave now.” I don't jump to respond to him— my brain is fuzzy from the tequila and from his touch—so he takes that as an invitation. “My sweet, beautiful Lucy,” he growls. “Am I making a freak out of you?”
I shake my head, but Jace is still skeptical because he purses his lips. “I just want to go home with you tonight.”
His stormy blue eyes darken with desire that pulsates into my body. He squeezes my ass and draws me close to him, knocking the wind out of my lungs. “Good. Let’s get out of here before I lose my patience and take you here.”
As we quietly make our departure, the first willing and ready participant is being strapped to the table he created.
Twenty-Seven
Lucy
“Do you ever miss it?” I ask Jace, my voice a faint whisper as he motions for me to put my hands above my head. I do so without protest, shivering when the cold metal cuffs clasp around my wrists. “The parties, I mean.”
He latches the cuffs to one of the hooks on his bedpost then traces his hands down my naked body. I arch against him, my body curving into his mouth when he drops his dark head to my nipple. “No,” he breathes, and goose bumps race across my skin as his warm breath glides over my body. “Not at all.”
“Do you ever think about going—” I gasp when his hand squeezes between my thighs and he circles his palm around my clit. He’s relentless, rough, and my body sings beneath his touch. “Do you…”
Moving his other hand and mouth to my throat, he lets out a rough growl. “I’m happy right where I am.”
“With me?”
“With you,” he confirms, making my heart flutter. “Now, love, if you mention one of those parties again while I’m trying to make you come, I’ll make sure you won’t get an ounce of sleep.”
I promise that I won’t, promise that I’ll simply enjoy, so he moves down my body again. His hand never leaves my sex as his tongue circles each of my nipples, then my belly button, causing me to suck in my stomach. When he lowers to his knees in front of me, spreading my legs so far apart that I’m sure I would fall if it weren’t for my bound hands, he grins up at me. “You’re perfect, love. Everything I was searching for when I…”
He trails off, but I still bob my head. In understanding. In pleasure.
Sliding his hand from the juncture of my thighs, he replaces his fingers with his tongue, sucking and teasing until my moans become music around us. When I feel cold, smooth metal rubbing against my clit, I cast hooded eyes down to watch him as he rubs a small bullet along my flesh.
I nearly come undone when he draws away, touching the stainless steel to the tip of his tongue. It’s smaller than most of the toys I’ve seen in the shop, a work of art with intricate petals at the base. When I realize exactly what it is he’s holding, my lips part. “Jace,” I pant, “Is that…”
He reaches behind me, giving my ass a harsh squeeze to confirm. My legs shake as my heart collides with my ribcage. “I want everything from you, Lucy. Every taste. Every hole. Everything.”
I want everything from him too.
Every taste. Every emotion. Every truth.
So, I nod my head. Bow my body against him. And I give and take.
Although he tells me not to leave, I still slink out of Jace’s house at close to four the next morning so that I can go home to get dressed for work. I'm relieved that my mother is still in bed because my hair is crazy and I still have that flushed look that only comes from the kind of night I had shared with Jace. After I shower and make myself presentable, though, she’s already up and fussing around the kitchen.
I hum along to the sound of Gaga and Tony from the counter CD player, and she looks up from her newspaper. “You’re in a good mood.” She turns her mug to her lips, her stare sharp and knowing as she lowers it to the placemat.
“The event we went to went really well. Jace’s client was very … pleased.”
She makes a face. It’s obvious she wants to ask more, after all, this is my mother, but she only moves her head in a slight nod. “I'm happy to hear that.” She supports her chin in her hands. “I was thinking, maybe we can reschedule that dinner with my friend. Maybe this weekend? Maybe you can even invite your boss.”
I glance over my shoulder at her while I pour my own cup of coffee. I’m not sure how Jace will respond to an invitation to have dinner with my mom, especially since we’re still casual—even if last night felt like anything but—yet it’s worth a try. “I'd like that.”
She beams, and from her content expression, I can tell she really enjoys this man. It makes me happy. Hell, it would make my dad happy. “I think this is great, Mom,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “That you found someone who makes you … smile again. I haven’t seen you this way in a long time, but I don’t want it to stop.”
I don’t want anything in my new life to stop.
“I don’t want that to happen either,” she says softly.
I'm still in a good mood when I step into the office, and I have every intention of finding Jace and letting him know just how sore my body is this morning, but Daisy motions for me to stop when I reach for the workshop door.
She's on the phone, wearing a pained expression, but she covers the receiver and firmly tells me, “Don’t go back there, Sunshine.”
Waiting in the chairs by her desk, I frown, listening to her repeatedly apologize to whomever she is speaking to. The second she hangs up the phone rings again, but she rakes her fingers through her platinum hair and ignores it. “It’s ringing off the fucking hook,” she mutters.
“New orders?” I ask sympathetically, and my heart freezes when her face falls.
“Jace hasn’t”—she takes a breath and drags her hand over her face—“he hasn’t called you yet to tell you what’s going on?”
“No…” A heavy weight plummets to the pit of my stomach, and the pressure claws up, stopping at my heart. “Daisy is everything okay?”