If he said, Would you do striptease for me, here’s a boa, I would have laughed and hit him in the chest. But this request was so sexually charged. It felt like he was devouring me with his eyes. That gaze crushed the air out of my lungs, rendering me unable to speak. Deep within my body, things clenched in that delicious way that made me feel like his seductress. I nodded, “I’ll try,” I whispered.
A stern look shadowed his face, “No, there’s not trying. You either will or you won’t.” His eyes gleamed, locking onto mine with an intense need. It made me nod without thinking. I didn’t know what he liked, and I sure as hell wanted to know what he saw when he looked at me. Was that something that he could capture with a lens? I didn’t know. “Say it,” he whispered, firmly telling me to speak.
“Yes. I’ll do it. I want to see what you see.” My eyes drifted from his perfect lips to his intense eyes. I breathed, “I trust you, Jack.” My heart was racing in my chest as his expression softened. The man that was looking at me a moment ago was part of the Jack that I didn’t know—the one who’d been burned. He didn’t mess around, he wanted direct, firm, decisions, and nothing less. When he turned away, he placed the camera on a table top and said he’d be right back.
Moving toward the large black square, I lifted the camera off the table. Fumbling with the buttons, I wondered if the photos from the shoot with my first painting were still on it. I found the right buttons, and clicked them hoping to see something from that night. The canvas was covered on the wall. Jack concealed it, telling me he wanted me to wait until he was done to see it. Looking at the camera was totally cheating. A small thrill coursed through me as I clicked the button, expecting to see the fluffy skirt and my naked chest covered in paint, but the screen was black. I frowned.
Jack whispered behind me, making me jump, “I took the card out—and you’re a horrible snoop. You aren’t supposed to get caught.” He gave me a look that made me smile sheepishly as he ripped the camera out of my hands. “It’ll be the best painting I’ve ever made. Give it time, Abby. Let me finish it.” He smiled, his expression warming. I didn’t understand why he was being secretive, why I was denied seeing the process, but I didn’t press him.
Jack had placed the camera on the table behind him. There were several thin boxes that he had brought back when he snuck up on me. I reached for the lid, but Jack swatted my fingers away. “Not yet,” he laughed. “Go change. I hung up the skirt you wore—the one I painted—it’s in the dressing room. Put that on and come out.”
“Just the skirt?” I asked, suddenly feeling shy. Jack’s eyes pierced me, raking across my body, landing on my face and finally meeting my gaze.
“Just the skirt.” Stubble lined his jaw, making his eyes appear brighter, bluer. Air rushed out of my lungs in a shallow gasp. For some reason, doing this in the middle of the day seemed more risqué than doing it in the middle of the night. But the look in his eye told me the skirt was only the beginning.
I came out of the dressing room, my arm covering my chest, as I held up the huge skirt with my other hand, walking toward him. Jack stood next to three open boxes of glittering jewels. When I was close enough to see what they were, my jaw dropped. “Jack, are those real?” Of course they were real. He was rich, but I never seemed to remember that. I saw my high school version of Jack, the boy clad in jeans and Chuck’s. The man worth millions was watching me, grinning at the arm covering my body.
His dark brow arched as he stepped toward me, “As real as you are, but your perfection makes them seem trite.” He reached for my hands, forcing me to reveal myself. The muscles in my arms were tense. There were no midnight hour, sleepy, half-conscious minds making decisions. This time was different. This time I was giving myself to him in way that I hadn’t done before. I knew he wanted me, but I didn’t know how, and the look in his eyes said it would be different. He held me at arm’s length, my hands in his as he parted them, holding my arms away from my body, admiring me. Jack’s hot gaze slipped over my neck, lingered on my breasts, before dipping to my waist. He released one hand and raised the other. “Spin,” he commanded, passing me under his arm. I spun once slowly, on the ball of my foot feeling like a wanton ballerina, wishing that he’d touch me—but Jack only watched.
His eyes slid over me as I turned, caressing the curves of my body, seeing them in the full light from the window. My heart pounded in my chest. I glanced at the open window, worried. He saw my gaze pass his shoulder and land on the glass. “No one’s here, Abby. It’s private property. Trust me.” My eyes moved back to his face. I nodded once, and didn’t look at the window again.
Jack took a deep breath, smiling to himself. “You are so stunning, so captivatingly beautiful.” He breathed heavily, his eyes growing darker. He blinked once. Twice. Forcing away the emotions that were dominating him. “I’m going to reposition this,” he took a fist full of skirt, tugging it, “and then the jewelry.” I nodded, still feeling exposed, still shocked by how much I wanted him.
Barefoot, I padded behind him to a table filled with brushes, tiny tubes, palettes, and shears. Jack picked up a silver pair of scissors. He gripped my waist, and tugged at the skirt until the slit was in front—off center—over my leg. He pushed the fabric back, seeing my lack of panties, and smiled. Leaning closer, he kneeled in front of me, pressing his face to my bare skin and inhaled. My fingers found his hair and as I tried to hold him there, but Jack pulled away, his hair getting tugged as he retreated.
Every inch of me was tingling, aching to be touched. Without thinking, I whispered, “You’re making me crazy, Jack.” I breathed deeply, my chest expanding fully as he looked up at me.
“Remember, your promise, Abby.” With that he took the skirt in his hands, and layer by layer hacked into it. When he was done, it looked like a wild animal had eaten the front of the skirt. There wasn’t any fabric left to cover anything below the waist. The remnants of the skirt trailed down behind my waist, covering my butt. I swallowed hard, trying to remain still and silent.
Jack stepped back, his fingers touching his face, arms folded, as he surveyed the new slutty skirt. Hesitating for a moment, he seemed to come to a conclusion. Practically running, Jack bounced over to the storage racks and climbed up. He dug a black piece of satin from one, and a pair of shiny black heels from another. “Size 7?” he asked, before jumping down. I nodded, frozen. This felt erotic, making me feel vulnerable in a good way.
Jack walked back toward me. It seemed like he deliberately slowed his step. I commented on it, “Less eager now, are we?” My voice had bravado that I didn’t feel. I wondered where it came from, as he walked toward me holding heels that had to be a health hazard. They promised broken ankles and other naughty things that made my cheeks burn.
Jack stopped in his tracks when the rosy glow spread across my body. His eyes slid over me, his hands gripping the shoes tighter, and crushing the scrap of black fabric. He breathed deeply, his chest rising, his eyes focused. “Every time you say something, I have the insatiable urge to sink my fingers into your ass and take you.” My blush deepened as I looked down, trying to hide it. Jack continued to walk toward me, slowly, seductively. My heart beat faster with every step. He looked like he wanted to do those things and more. “Eagerness does not begin to describe what I want to do with you.” He held out the shoes. I reached and took them.
They were black patent. The toe was so pointed, I didn’t know if they’d fit. The heel was at least four inches. I usually wore ballet flats or sandals. I slipped one on, trying to stand, looking at the other sexy shoe in my hand, “Jack, I don’t know if I can walk in these.”
He grinned, “They’re not for walking, Abby.” I blushed harder. “There’s a reason they’re called fuck-me heels. They’re recreational shoes.” I knew what they were called. I was a minister; I didn’t live in a bubble. I just never owned a pair. There was no reason to, but with the way Jack watched me, I wished I had. I slipped on the second shoe and was lucky I could stand up. My ankles were threatening to wobble, when Jack’s gaze slid over my body, appreciatively. His arms folded across his chest, the curve of his pecs outlined perfectly.
I felt such a strange mixture of things as he looked at me, lust and sensuality climbed to the top, crushing the shyness that was dormant beneath. Oh, I wanted him to touch me. I wanted his hands on my body, feeling my curves and not just tracing them with his eyes. Jack crooked a finger at me. “Come here.”
I took a step in the shoes, carefully moving toward him. His eyes locked on my body, my breasts thrust forward, the angle of my butt forced out from the insanely high shoes. I stopped in front of him, willing him to touch me. He lifted his hand, pressing a single finger to my neck. His skin was warm, barely touching me as he trailed his hand down the curve of my neck, caressing the soft flesh of my breast, and causing me to gasp when he lightly brushed my taught nipple. I glanced up at him in wonder. He made me feel so much, and I wanted more.
“Jack,” I moaned, ready to beg him, but he stopped me.
Smiling softly, eyes full of lust, he said, “Your promise, Abby. Seal those sexy lips before I give you something to suck on.” The seductive threat made a pool of heat shoot straight to my core. His words only made me want him more. The idea of tasting him was beyond appealing, and once he mentioned it, I couldn’t clear the thought from my mind. “Abby. You’re so incredibly hot. The fact that you’re like this and have only been with me makes it hotter.” His gaze rested on my face for a moment. It was like we were both lost all these years and we’d finally found each other. He stepped toward me, gently running his fingers down the side of my face, making my heart pound harder. My eyes closed as he spoke, “You’re mine.” Opening my eyes, I nodded. There was something in his expression, something hotter, more dark and desperate than he seemed a moment ago. “Last chance to back out.”
