J. Critch - A Sinful Little Christmas

“I know there’s something you’re leaving out there,” she pointed out. Michael said nothing, offering her nothing more about his personal life. “Why did you want to come here?”

“I’m at a crossroads in my life. Gabe reached out to me, and I met him in Dublin.” Michael noticed her head tilt and her lips purse, then added, “I figured it was a good time for something new, a change of scenery, and I figure there’s no different scenery than Las Vegas. I’ve heard great things about Di Terrestres. You’re known internationally within the scene. I’m not sure if you know this, but I’ve known Gabe since university. He’s told me all about you.” He flicked his eyes over her. But Gabe hadn’t told him everything about her—he’d left out that Alana Carter was possibly the sexiest woman Michael had ever seen. Smoking hot, hard as steel and capable of making him want to do so many things to her, with her, have her do to him. But he stuck with “Gabe has had good things to say about you and the way you do business.” Knowing she wouldn’t make it easy for him, he kept going, hoping flattery and sex appeal would help melt her icy exterior. “I’m excited to get to work, to see what I can do for you,” he finished with an innuendo-laced, closed-lip grin. Just bring the conversation to sex, and away from his personal life. That was where his comforts lay.

The way Alana raised her eyebrows, but then quickly lowered them, let Michael know that he’d had the intended effect. He saw the way she looked at him, and it was obvious that the attraction between them flowed both ways. She cleared her throat and leaned her elbows on her desk, zeroing in on him with those light gray eyes, while his eyes dipped again to her chest and the view he’d been presented with. “And what do you think you can do for me?” she asked, her voice husky.

He, too, leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “I can relieve some of the stress and the pressure you must be under. Being a powerful woman in a man’s world can’t be easy. I’m here to do the heavy lifting at Di Terrestres and lighten your load, no matter what it might be.”

Alana stood behind her desk, forcing him to look up at her. He was a tall man, and had never had a woman stand over him. “I think I know how you can relieve some of the stress, and make my day a little easier…” He watched with interest as she drew her fingertips over the top of her desk. Every movement she made was crafted to have an effect on him. He could tell she knew how to use her body, her mind, every part of her, to seduce to get what she wanted.

And Michael was almost embarrassed by how well it worked on him.

He stood as well. He could already feel all of his blood rushing to his dick. “Oh yeah? What do you have in mind?”

“Well, first,” she said, her voice sultry, as she reached back and opened her desk drawer, took a step around the front of the desk to stand in front of him and handed over a stack of paper tickets. He inhaled deeply and found her perfume. Citrus with a floral hint, alluding to a more playful side? He wondered. Her scent was captivating, intoxicating, but no more so than the way she pursed her lips, one side tilted upward, and she dipped her chin to what she’d placed in his hand, urging him to look.

He looked in his hand and saw what she’d given him, and he laughed without humor.

“You can pick up my dry cleaning,” she told him, her voice still a sultry whisper. “The address is on the back.”

Her dry cleaning? “You can’t be serious.”

All hint of seduction was now missing from her voice and posture. “Mr. Paul, you’ll discover that I’m rarely anything but serious.”

He shook his head, and glared down at her. “Do you know what you’re paying me? I didn’t come all the way here from London to run your errands.”

“You’ll do exactly what I tell you to do,” she said in a harsh whisper. “I don’t care what I’m paying you, just make sure you prove you’re worth it.”

He could tell she was angry, and no longer the ice queen she’d been when he walked in. It made him smile that he’d been able to affect her. “I’ll show you how worth it I am. But I have to say, I was under the impression from your partners that I’d be running Di Terrestres. Hence, that large salary.”

“That’s a joke. I run Di Terrestres. I can’t be blamed for any misinformation you were given by my associates.”

“Then why am I here?”

“Good question.” They each watched the other, and the more Michael dueled with Alana, the more frustrating she became. And the more a sick part of him enjoyed it.

She sighed, and he wondered if he was finally wearing her down. “Let’s get this over with, and we’ll see where you belong here,” she said. “What sorts of things have you been credited with in your old club. What did you do there?”

He sobered, and for a moment forgot about their battle of wills and the sexual tension and got back down to business. Sure, he was having fun playing with Alana, but there were few things Michael took as seriously as his old club. When it was his. “Originally, Swings was my idea. There were some deficiencies in the London kink and swing scene. It was limited to a few private parties here and there, held in private homes. But as you can imagine—going to a person’s home or someone else’s dungeon opens you up for all kinds of risks. We gave people a place to safely play. But we made it accessible to most people. Not just the super rich. With different price points and levels of membership, our first-tier dues are modest, but the application process is still as intense, and people had to be referred by a member.”

“Did you see any challenges with that? Allowing it to be more open?”

He shrugged. “Everyone deserves to have fun, as long as they follow the rules and respect other people. We had a private area for more well-known patrons, but everyone at all tiers was able to enjoy the facilities. Maybe that’s something we could do here. Increase profits by finding a way for allowing everyone to come here.”

“I wouldn’t start making big plans yet,” she told him.

“Are you so afraid of change?”

She said nothing. Michael sat back and regarded her. The angrier she looked, the more defiant the look in her eyes, the sexier she became, the more he liked it, and it made him smile. She had a tough, cold exterior, but he could see the passion that burned underneath the facade. “Control,” he said.

She blinked, looked startled. “What?” she asked, even though he knew she heard exactly what he’d said.

He grinned. “You get off on control, don’t you?”

Watching Alana as she busied herself with some files on her desk, straightening them in a stack, and then restraightening them, not looking at him, he thought this might be the way to get beneath that tough exterior. She didn’t respond.

“Am I right?” he prodded. “You like to show you’re in charge, no matter where you are, don’t you?”

“What are you doing?” Alana’s voice was low.

He shrugged. “I’m just trying to get to know my new boss. Tell me what you’re into. When you go downstairs, where do you go? The dungeon?” He thought about it, and shook his head. “No, I don’t think you’re a dungeon woman. Orgy rooms? I have to say no again, because I don’t see you having fun unless you are in complete control. A fem domme?” he asked himself, knowing she wouldn’t answer. He nodded in appreciation at the thought. “Well, that’s intriguing.” He had to admit, he liked to be in charge, but he might seriously let Alana call the shots if she wanted to. Perhaps. Maybe once. Then he would show her exactly how he liked to be in control.