Controlling Chrissy Page 4

  Sleeping at night had grown next to impossible. She tossed and turned, she fantasized. Her hand could never get enough of her crotch and vice versa. In the dim light of the LED on the alarm clock, lying there, naked, twisted in the sheets, her healed ass tingling in unknown anticipation, she would have her half-dreams. Derek coming back to her, slipping through the shadows, bending over her, whispering in her ear the things he intended to do.

  "You've been a bad girl. You need to be punished."

  Chrissy had even tried a hand at smacking her own ass, one hand battering her behind as the other hit pay dirt between her legs. Shuddering and coming and moaning she would take it, pain and pleasure, in equal measure. But the orgasms would never satisfy. Afterwards she weep and bit the pillow and pounded her fists. It wasn't the same – not at all the same.

  By daybreak she would hate herself, knowing she'd played the fool again. Derek Trace was long gone. He'd moved on and probably never gave her a second thought. Hence the ever-fresh waves of anger she felt and the aborted ongoing attempts to throw away the business card.

  That simple little card. Electric blue with white lettering. Derek Trace. Trace Importing and Exporting. All things come and go.

  Smug bastard. He'd come into her life from out of nowhere, and he needed to go back. In her saner moments, she tried to plan vacations to restore her peace of mind. A little cruise. Maybe a long weekend in the Caribbean at one of those singles resorts. She'd meet someone new and that would be the end of it.

  By the sixth day after her spanking, Chrissy was feeling a little more optimistic. She made a plan to bring home her favorite Chinese food for dinner and spend some time on the Internet looking for cheap tours to Europe. By afternoon, she was actually flirting again, trying to get noticed by one of the new accountants, a tall lean guy with a shock of red hair.

  It wasn't till she was on the way out the door that it hit her. Exactly one week ago, at this time, she'd been in Craig's, meeting Derek. She had no idea why the idea of an anniversary should hit her so hard, but it did and she had to make a fast retreat to the bathroom to cry it out.

  There were so many reasons not to do what she was about to do, but she found herself squirreled away in the corner stall of the ladies room, fingers trembled as she retrieved both the taped business card and the cell phone from her purse.

  He answered on the second ring, his voice instantly seizing hold of her. She was like a mouse, suddenly held in the talons of an eagle.

  "Trace here."

  Oh, god, she couldn't breathe.

  "Hello?"

  "It's … it's me … Chrissy Newland."

  A moment of silence. "Yes?"

  She tried to picture where he was. What he might be doing. "I … I was hoping I might be able to see you again."

  Another silence. I am going to die, she thought. I am going to cease to exist this very moment.

  "I'm sorry, Miss Newland. Another date is out of the question."

  "I understand." She choked back her tears. "I'm sorry to have disturbed you … goodbye, then."

  "Why would you say goodbye?" he asked. "I only told you I would not offer another date. I didn't say I wouldn't see you."

  Chrissy tried to wrap her mind around the difference. Did he want her as a friend … or did he have something sleazier in mind?

  "I'm not sure," she hesitated. "What do you mean exactly."

  "I mean you will meet me in the lounge of the Continental Hotel at ten o'clock. We will explore our relationship further at that point."

  Her heart leaped. So he did think of himself as having a relationship with her. It hadn't just been a wham bam spank you, ma'am after all. But if they were not going to date, what else would they do? Surely he couldn't just punish her again for nothing?

  "I … I've missed you," she whispered.

  "Ten o'clock," he repeated, severing the connection.

  Chrissy collapsed onto her own tense nerves. So much for probing him to gauge his affections. He was a closed book. Again. She looked at her watch. She had four hours to get there. An eternity to wait. Still, how would she ever get everything done? Her hair, nails – and whatever was she going to wear?

  She went straight home, to tackle the wardrobe crisis. Five times she changed dresses, finally settling on a short, black cocktail dress, made of a soft, touchable velour. It accentuated her shape well, emphasizing her petite, letter-perfect curves. She complemented it with a black bow, which she used to tie her hair back into a long ponytail. The dress was short sleeved, with a scoop neck. She chose black underwear, lacy and very suggestive. A gold necklace provided the finishing touch and a pair of narrow high heels. It was an ultra-feminine look she was going for, one she hoped would both inflame and disarm him at the same time. She wanted him eating out of her hand this time, totally overwhelmed by her beauty.

  She used the expensive perfume, the French one she saved for emergencies. Her nails gave her a headache, but she finally managed to lacquer them over in a passion pink that looked passable. She used the same color for her lipstick. Again, she wanted to hint at her charms, not pound him over the head with them. His place was to wait upon them, and her, in humble, gentle anticipation.

  Of course this was Derek Trace she was talking about, which meant she should be prepared for anything by way of reaction. In her mind, she went over possible answers to his questions and witty responses to his inevitable barbs. She practiced them all in the cab.

  Her main concern throughout the whole beauty ordeal had been the time. She was proud of herself for arriving at the hotel at nine forty-five, a full fifteen minutes early. That gave her time to go to the restroom in the lobby and make final touches to her makeup. Was the mascara just right? Had she overdone the rouge? I might as well be getting ready for the prom again for all my jitters, she mused.

  It was five of ten when Chrissy walked into the lounge. She attempted a casual strut, though from the moment she caught sight of Derek it was all she could do to keep from collapsing to the floor. For the first time in her life, she actually felt self-conscious. Every eye seemed to be burning into her. She was sure the people here could tell that this gorgeous man in the gray silk suit had smacked her ass mercilessly, making her cry like a little child.

  That same hand was clutching a glass, a tumbler filled with clear liquid and ice, just like the other night. His foot was up on the brass railing, lending a nice little angle to his cuffed trousers. The jacket and pants were cut in the latest style, enhancing his lean frame.

  Chrissy nearly swooned when he turned to face her. He was wearing a pale blue silk shirt, unbuttoned at the neck. He hadn't shaved in several days, which lent a rough, even more angular look to his stark features. The effect of the eyes was multiplied by the shirt, completing the overall image of a man fully able to command anything, or anyone, in his immediate vicinity.

  "Miss Newland," he said, taking no apparent notice of her elaborately arranged appearance. "Would you like a drink?"

  She took up her place beside him. "A glass of white wine would be nice, thank you."

  It occurred to her now this wasn't the first time he'd ignored her physical beauty. He had in fact, never once made the slightest observation about her physical person. Did he even find her attractive? Why, exactly, had he wanted to date her in the first place?

  She smiled engagingly at the bartender as he delivered a glass Chablis, on a fine white napkin. He was over forty, with a good bit of gray hair, but still a decent enough looking man.

  "Here's to being on time," she toasted Derek.

  Their glasses clinked, hers fine and frail, his solid and strong. "So why did you call me?" He cut to the chase. "You seemed rather adamant after our last meeting."

  She sipped with frosted pink lips. The wine was good. Sharp and sweet, soothing and tingling all at once. "I don't know. I was curious, I suppose."

  He smiled wryly. "You know what they say about curiosity.

  Chrissy took a deep swallow, fortifying herself. "
Meow," she huskily, indicating her willingness to play the proverbial cat.

  "You know the kind of man I am. You've had a taste." It was designed as a warning, not an icebreaker.

  "I know you like things your own way." She fingered the rim of the glass, studying the contents coyly, as though there might be hidden messages or lines of dialogue for her to use.

  "That describes everyone on the planet. The difference is some obtain what they want and others do not."

  "And you are in the former category?"

  He shook his head. "Perish the thought. People who get what they want are miserable. They have nothing to look forward to … except the let down of possession."

  Chrissy nodded, hopeful she might, at last, be making some headway into the man's psychology. "So for you, the thrill is in the chase."

  "Something like that."

  Both their heads turned toward the stunning blonde approaching them. To her horror, Chrissy realized they knew each other, and on rather intimate terms.

  "Darling," the runway thin, platinum beauty kissed him. "I'm sorry I'm late. I thought Fiodor would never stop shooting me."

  "It's no problem," he soothed. "I knew it would be a long layout."

  "Was it ever." the woman sighed as she draped her tall body against his. They were nearly the same height. With her long, sequined, slinky silver gown she was every bit the match for him in his thousand dollar suit.

  Chrissy resented everything about her immediately. Her expensive, tousled haircut to make her look as if she just rolled out of bed. The teardrop diamond earrings that probably went for five or ten thousand dollars. Her drop waist and perfect belly, her even more perfect face, and most especially the fact she got to be late and Derek didn't seem to give a shit.

  What time was she supposed to have been here? Chrissy wondered. Was it just a few minutes past her allotted time or an hour and a half like Chrissy herself had been? Then again, Chrissy had not technically shown up for her date at all.

  "And who have we here?" The woman turned her attention to Chrissy, regarding her as some sort of inarticulate pet.

  Another reason to hate her: she was a condescending bitch.

  "This is Miss Chrissy Newland. Miss Newland, meet Arianna."

  "Charmed," Arianna extended her rich bitch hand.

  "Arianna dabbles in modeling," Derek explained.

  Chrissy noted the man's use of her first name. Apparently she dabbled in fucking, too.

  "Oh, please," she rolled her gray eyes. "Let's just call it what it is. I'm slumming. Because if I didn't have something to do, I'd be so bored I would quite simply shoot myself."

  Oh, please don't let us stop you, Chrissy thought.

  Come to think of it, this Arianna looked vaguely familiar. Unless Chrissy missed her guess, she was one of those rich young heiresses, an A-list party girl, with too much time and money on her hands. There'd been a special about her and some others on cable a few months back. Was Derek one of these rich young heirs as well? He didn't act like it. He was so prepossessed, he seemed like someone who'd come up through the ranks so to speak and made his own fortunes. Was that possible at such a young age?

  "What about you?" Arianna asked Chrissy. "What's your line?"

  "Miss Newland is in banking," Derek answered for her. His manner, polite but terse, was clearly designed to end a possible conversation before it began.

  "I see," said Arianna, sporting a bemused look that Chrissy would sincerely love to smack off her covergirl face. "And why exactly have you brought along your banker tonight, Derek?"

  "She's going to watch," said Derek.

  Chrissy's knees buckled. Did he mean what she thought he did?

  "Ooo," she purred. "How delightfully kinky."

  "Finish your wine, Miss Newland, we're going upstairs."

  For some reason she wasn't finding the words to fight adequately. The presence of the regal beauty beside him had her completely intimidated. "But … but…"

  "Articulate little thing, isn't she?" Arianna laughed lightly.

  Derek arched a single brow. "Finish your wine now, Miss Newland."

  His tone jolted her. To her shame she quickly guzzled the Chablis and fell in step behind the happy couple, heeling Derek like a dog. This was a nightmare. There was no way she would get in that elevator with them. What could they do to stop her running away? She'd just make a break for it in the lobby, head straight out the front door and melt into the traffic outside. End of story: a clean getaway.

  Really, there was no other choice but to flee. Getting in that elevator, following through with Derek's plans meant nothing but more shame for her and frustration. She'd be the third wheel. Watching the two of them fuck knowing she would never mean anything to the man, that he would never date her, by his own admission, or care for her. No, it would be unbearable.

  "Get in, Chrissy, we're waiting."

  The sharp command jolted her back to reality. She'd been standing in front of the open doors, deciding. How long had she been there? A minute? An hour?

  Arianna sighed with exasperation. "Really, girl, it's a simple command. One foot in front of the other. Chop. Chop."

  Chrissy flushed red. Feeling insignificant and small she got in.

  "Finally," exclaimed the heiress.

  Derek pushed the top button. They were going all the way up.

  "So how long have you known Derek?" Arianna wanted to know, putting herself solidly in the man's embrace.

  "Not long," she said meekly.

  Arianna ignored the reply. She was already busy offering herself, her painted red lips molding hotly to Derek's. In response, his hands moved immediately and possessively to her ass, setting off yet another wave of jealousy in Chrissy.

  "Do you know how hard I'm gonna fuck you?" Derek declared, his voice low and raspy.

  Arianna arched her neck, running her fingertips through his hair as he sucked at her white skin. "No, but I intend to find out."

  "Feel my cock," he commanded. "Tell me how hard it is."

  "It's very hard," she obliged, her eyes wet with anticipation as she rubbed the swell in his trousers.

  "You'll take it in your mouth first. Deep."

  "Oh, god," she groaned. "No one can make me do things like you can … no one can make me feel so much."

  The elevator pinged its destination. Derek pulled a key card from his pocket and tossed it to Chrissy. "Go and open the door. It's the Presidential Suite on the end. Wait in the bathroom. Standing up."

  Arianna grinned at her and winked. The last thing Chrissy saw as she turned and walked out was Derek, grabbing at Arianna's breasts. Chrissy could still hear Arianna giggling as she walked down the hall. Her hand trembled as she tried to insert the card into the slot. It took three tries to get it right. Finally the tiny light turned green and the mechanism gave way.

  It was a gorgeous set of rooms complete with a Jacuzzi and huge windows overlooking the skyline in the living area along with a very spacious bedroom and dining area. The furniture was quite fancy, rich mahogany upholstered in plush patterned silks. The carpet was burgundy and the walls were papered in a rose petal pink with scalloped shells.

  Of course it was the bathroom she was looking for. It was splendid, as well, with gold fixtures and an ornate freestanding sink. The floor was tiled in white marble, fit for a king's hall. Except it was still a bathroom, and being relegated to it here and now was a little, well … humiliating. It was especially tough because watching Derek and Arianna in the elevator had gotten her quite worked up. She was desperate for some kind of relief.

  Several minutes went by. Chrissy was beginning to wonder if they'd changed their minds and gone back downstairs when she heard the woman's voice. She was laughing like a schoolgirl, telling him to behave, though it was clear she wanted the very opposite.

  "Fix you a drink?" Derek said.

  "Love one."

  They were in the living room.

  Ice clinked at this point and there was some muffled small
talk. She couldn't see a thing. The whole experience was maddening. I can't even sit down, Chrissy groused, unless I want to risk being caught disobeying.

  God–was that what she was doing right now? Obeying? The thought flooded her panties instantly.

  Tentatively, she slid a hand over her flat belly. It wasn't a million dollar stomach like Arianna's, but it wasn't bad. Nor was the pussy between her legs that was so hotly burning at this moment. Sucking in her breath she pushed out her breasts against the black lace bra. Her nipples chafed agonizingly. In seconds, her hand was up under the hem of her dress and fidgeting with the waistband of the lace panties. She had to lean back against the sink, spreading her legs to get at her soft, needful pink flesh. She was going to come quickly and hard.

  It was all so shameful and degrading. The man was treating her like a total slut. Worse than a slut, because he wasn't even going to give her the benefit of a good fuck in the bargain. What kind of a man did something like that to a woman, and what kind of a woman let it happen?

  Just a few moments more, her finger sliding over her clit, resolving that magic itch and she would gush, fully and satisfyingly. Maybe then she'd get this man out of her system. Stifling sighs, she pulled herself, higher and higher and…

  "Well, well, well, what have we here?" It was Arianna, gloating in the doorway. "Seems the little bitch can't keep her hands out of her pants."

  Chrissy blazed crimson. Talk about being caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

  "Derek," she called. "Come see what your banker is doing now."

  Derek showed up in the doorway a moment later. Chrissy hung her head. He didn't need any explanation to figure out what had been going on. One look at Chrissy's glistening hand said it all. "It's all right," Derek said to Arianna. "We'll limit her range of motion soon enough."