A Dominant Man (52 page)

“Goodbye, Ellie. Good luck.”

“Thanks. I’ll need it.” I smile b
ack at him and exit his office.

I
step out of the shower and towel off quickly. I wrap myself in a white silk robe and walk over to the counter to apply my make-up. I go with a charcoal smoky eye and matte nude lips. I leave my hair down, allowing it to cascade over my breasts. I put on my ring, diamond earrings, and black and white diamond tennis bracelet. Hunt bestowed it upon me this evening while we sipped on wine and relaxed in front of the fire, gazing out at the breathtaking view from the main room.

I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to having money or having it lavished upon me with such extravagant gifts.
I think to myself as I gaze into the mirror.

I head into the bedroom where Damian is dressing. He’s in a black suit with a blood red tie adorning his lickable neck. I stride over to my Adonis and scoop my arms about his waist, placing my head on his broad, muscular back. I inhale the delicious, heady fragrance of Hunt. He smells of soap, fresh laundry, and a musky scent that causes my hairs to stand on end and cleft to pine.

He reaches behind me and pulls me into him. I peck his upper back and release him to get ready.

I strut into the closet and snag the getup off a hook. It’s a white chiffon, strapless dress with a mullet skirt and fitted sweetheart bodice. A strip of flowing chiffon gathers between the breasts, gracefully cascading into multiple tiers to just above the knee, forming a chic layered high-low skirt. It was designed by a Native up and coming genius. I actually have a few pieces of hers hanging in my closet. Adorning my feet are YSL red satin, round toed pumps, which match Hunt’s tie perfectly.

I put on my white lace panties and garter, and then slide on sheer stockings, snapping the garter clasp to the lace top. I get into my white corset, with a black satin ribbon lacing up the back, and hook it up, but it’s just a tad too big.

“Oh, Hunt, darling. Will you come in here and assist me for a moment?”

I know he’ll enjoy lacing me up. He saunters in, scanning me from head to toe. “Jesus, Gabrielle…You’re stunning.”

“Thank you. You look quite ravishing yourself, Mr. Hunt.” I turn my back to him and glance over my shoulder. “Do you mind?” I inquire flirtatiously.

He strides over to me and runs his finger along my upper back.

“My pleasure,” he replies and laces me up slowly. He tightens each section, tugging firmly, and ties it securely. I turn around to show him his handy work while I slip into the dress and heels. I walk over to the full-length mirror in the center of our private boutique and admire myself for a moment. 

“Gabrielle, you’re a vision in white. You’re a goddess, my goddess. I worship you,” he whispers as he saunters to me with a dark, emerald gaze.

“Sorry, Hunt. You’ll have to wait until later to come out and play. We should leave soon.”

“I look forward to our playdate, Miss Hyde.” He has a frisky grin painted across his gorgeous mug, and I swoon.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Making you mine, Gabrielle.” He culls my back against his solid torso and kisses me on the neck. I moan graciously, sinking back into him. I fling my arm about his neck and run my eager fingers in his hair, clasping when he pushes the right button.

“I wish we could skip the whole night and stay in bed,” he murmurs against my neck. His warm, silky breath sends shivers down my body to my aching sex.

“Me, too, but we can’t. I promise, once the evening’s over, I’m all yours, slick.”

“You’re always mine,” he growls and squeezes his arms about me.

“Forever, babe,” I reply, shutting my eyes as he sways us in place. I let out an immense breath and pat his forearm softly. “Let’s skedaddle. I don’t want to be late.”

“God forbid, we miss your ex’s finger paintings.”

“Don’t be mean. He’s very talented. He does with a paint stroke, what you do with a camera. Genius,” I remark.

“Thanks, angel.”

“Did you ever consider selling them?”

“When I was in high school, I wanted to be a world famous photographer. I guess I couldn’t find the beauty in myself, so I found it in other places. I dreamt of traveling the world, taking shots of beautiful far off lands and the native women.”

“Yes, I can tell. You seem to enjoy your landscapes, whether living or not.”

“I’ve found my new muse. I want your pictures all around me, to admire you even when you aren’t near.”

“Can you take some of us for my apartment?”

“If you like.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“I have something I want you to wear tonight.” He spins me around, planting a hand on my cheek, and kisses me sweetly. He releases me and takes a step back, yanking a pair of white lace panties out of his pocket. He kneels down and slides a hand up my skirt not far past the hem, nimbly unfastening my garter straps.

He peels my panties off, and I lift my heeled feet to step out. He guides my foot through the leg hole of the new but very similar pair of underwear. I raise my other foot, and he slides that one through as well. He lifts them up, grazing my soft, nylon adorned flesh on his ascent.

Once they’re in place and my garter straps are hooked onto my lace stocking tops, he rises. He steps back and shoves his hand into his pocket, pulling out a small black device. He presses a button, and my panties begin to vibrate gently, sensationally pulsating against my sensitive clit. I moan with delight as the vibrations become stronger, building until I go weak in the knees, groaning raucously.

He snatches me up and smashes his lips harshly onto mine. I whimper against his ravaging mouth and go lax in his arms while the panties go to town on my nether regions. Suddenly, they cease, and his lips are ripped from mine.

“This is going to be fun,” he growls, taking my hand and rushing us out of the closet. “Come on, gorgeous, let’s get this fucking ordeal over with.”

I snag my black clutch and shawl off the white leather bench in the center of the room on our way out.

W
e’re driving to the gallery in Hunt’s classic Porsche Spyder, the same model as James Dean’s car, with the top down. My hair whips around in the cool evening breeze as the city buzzes around us.

I watch him handle the car with confidence and skill, dressed in his jet-black suit, hair wildly rustling in the wind. He’s just so debonair, so male. I can’t help but worship him and everything he is.

He breaks his focus from the road, glimpsing at my gartered thighs poking out from my skirt, licking his sumptuous lips. I lift my skirt to give him a view of the panties, and his eyes fly to mine. I smile wickedly at him, and he returns one, placing his hand on the bare flesh of my thigh. He places his focus back on the road but keeps his hand securely clasped to my inner thigh.

My head rolls back as I become aroused, his hand kneads and rubs, gropes and tickles, teasing me. Then suddenly, his hand is gone, ripped away, and my skirt is yanked back into place. We come to a stop, and I give him a disappointed look.

“We’re here.”

My eyes shoot over to the brightly lit gallery, a massive group of chatting people mingling inside. Hunt climbs out as the valet opens my door, walking about the front of the car to offer me a hand. I clasp on and slide out. He guides me into the building and comes to an abrupt halt. His hand squeezes mine, squishing my fingers together.

I gawk up at him and follow his gaze.

“There isn’t any doubt whom Mr. McQueen’s inspiration is,” he snidely comments.

Crap.

I discover what he’s snickering about. The walls are covered with my face. Every one of his paintings are of me. I spot the one Hunt’s peering at directly across the room, center stage. I’m nude! My arms wrap about my knees, which are curled into my chest, my smiling face resting upon them as I gaze lovingly out at the admiring crowd. There above the revealing portrait in 3-D metal letters, his nickname for me.

Gigi

My mouth drops open while I gawk stupefied by what I’m seeing. I’m on display, raw and exposed for all to critique. I look about the large gallery and observe the others. Everywhere I turn, me, smiling, frowning, laughing, dancing, sleeping, living.

“Gigi?” Hunt asks with lips clenched tight.

“Yes, his name for me.”

“Are you alright?” he inquires with a furrowed brow and tight lips.

“I’m not sure what I am, but alright is not it.”

“I need a drink. Would you like a glass of champagne?”

“God, yes, please.”

Hunt lets go of my hand, dexterously weaving and disappearing into the crowd. I’m about to walk over to the portrait in question when a hand grazes my back. I spin about to find Walker watching me with a concerned expression on his face. He swallows before asking with that panty-dropping Irish brogue, “Well? What do you think, love?”

“Walker…There incredible, but I’m fucking naked for Christ sake.” I point to the painting and frown. “I brought Hunt. He’s pissed.”

I notice how good he looks, taking a quick scan of his hulking form. He’s dressed in a black suit and white button up open at the collar. It’s one of my favorite looks on a man, simple, allowing him to shine. His copper hair is wet and slicked back, crystal blue eyes beaming at me from hooded lids, pearly whites flashing between those damn dimples. I gasp, and my lip trembles.

“Where is my competition anyway?” he asks, eyes skimming the room.

“Don’t start. You promised,” I whine.

“Fine…Where is he?”

“He’s getting me a much needed drink.”

“That’s not very smart of him. If I had you with me, I’d never leave yer side. I wouldn’t want some handsome devil from yer past stealin’ you away from me.” He winks.

All of a sudden, my panties go off in low pulsating waves, causing my knees turn to jelly. I clasp onto Walker’s sleeve, digging my nails into his toned flesh, whimpering. He clasps his hands onto my biceps to hold me up.

“Are you alright, love?”

“Yeah, I…ohhh god,” I half moan as the level of vibration increases. I know Hunt is watching me, toying with his remote, reminding me whom I belong to.

Walker holds me closer, slinking his arms about me, and the panties go wild. I bite down on my bottom lip and fight back the screaming moans struggling to escape.

“Do you hear a buzzin’?” Walker asks, checking his cellphone.

“Nope,” I squeak.

I feel Damian’s strong hand wrap firmly around my bicep and haul me back into my nook. His arm slithers about my waist, and he hands me a flute of champagne. I dig my face into his side and moan softly. The panties are still on, driving me closer to the edge.

Hunt slides his hand into his pocket and relieves me of the torture. My whole body unclenches, and I can finally think straight. When I regain my wits, I glance up to find Walker and Hunt glaring at one another. Their lips are tight, set in straight lines, with fists clenched at their sides. I attempt to break the uneasy silence.

“Damian Hunt, Walker McQueen. Walker, this is Damian.”

“Her boyfriend,” he practically snarls, grasping onto Walker’s extended hand.

“Ex-boyfriend,” Walker replies in a way as to say,
That’s right. I’ve fucked her, I’ve been inside your girl
.

He smiles impishly with an arched brow and a cocky expression. Hunt’s grip tightens around his hand, and Walker yanks it back.

“The key word is ex,” Hunt retorts with aggression.

“Can’t you two behave for my sake at the very least? We get it. You both fucked me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve had enough of the dick measuring contest.” I snicker and turn to get away from the immense tension thickening the air.

I vanish into the crowd and walk about the large, bright space surveying Walker’s phenomenal work. I sip my champagne and graciously nod my head to those gawking at me then the pictures.

I keep an eye out for Hunt and Walker, avoiding them at every opportunity I get. A full walk through and three champagne flutes later, Walker finds me tucked away in a shadowy, remote corner. He stands beside me with his back up against the wall.

The DJ spins the music into a familiar track. One I’d recognize anywhere. The song was playing the first time we made love, our song. ‘Fade into You’ by Mazzy Star. It’s a dreamy ballad with an acoustic guitar leading the melody and a piano accompanying a sleepy, crooning female voice.

“You had him play this? Didn’t you?”

“I may have,” he replies casually. 

“You promised me you wouldn’t behave in this manner. You lied, and now I’m in a sticky situation. Thanks,” I say sarcastically.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist.” He turns to me, propping his shoulder on the wall, leaning his bulky weight into it. His large form blocking me from view of any nosy passerby. “You look gorgeous. I nearly toppled over when I saw you walk in.”

He reaches up and delicately grazes my collarbone, sweeping my hair back over my shoulder. I tremble under his brazen touch.