Chapter 42 Chapter fourty two
RAFE showed her the study, complete with a built-in desk and a wall of bookshelves, another fireplace, and a television. This room had a couple of comfortable-looking chairs, lamps, and a settee. Because of a smattering of magazines—back issues of Houstonia, Texas Monthly, Sterling Getaways—along with the TV remote control on the coffee table, she guessed this was where he spent a lot of his free time. As with the rest of the home, this room had no personal effects.
“There’s a private elevator over there,” RAFE said, pointing to a door that looked as if it might be a pantry.
“A private elevator for your condo?” HOPE asked.
He shrugged. “It’s helpful for moving furniture.”
“Which do you do a lot?”
“Or as a timeout place for naughty subs.”
“Whew. Good thing I don’t know any of those,” she said.
“Yeah.” His quick grin transformed him into a more approachable man. “Good thing. Would you like to see the upstairs?”
She paused, knowing what that meant. His private space. His bedroom. Her spanking. Dread and anticipation unfurled. “Ye—ees.” The word broke into two syllables as she stumbled over it. She was trying to sound sophisticated or at least submissive, yet she was as unnerved as a virgin.
“You delight me.” At the bottom of the marble staircase, he paused. “I’d like you to get undressed.”
“As always, you shock me. Here?” she asked.
“It will change your mindset.”
“And make me cold.”
“Not for long. Your ass will be hot soon enough.”
Unable to maintain her composure while his expectation overwhelmed her, she lowered her gaze. He took the glass from her and set it down.
Her voice cracking, she asked, “Are you staying dressed?”
“At least for the moment,” he replied.
“Is that part of your approach to BDSM?”
“It can be,” he said.
His shockingly clear eyes radiated power. A lot of executives wore comfortable clothing, but she thought his tailored suits were sexy and classy. Once again, her gaze traveled to his tie as she had a sudden fantasy about being restrained.
“Besides, I like looking at your body. It’s easier not to give in to the temptation to fuck you if I’m dressed,” RAFE added.
“I wondered about that,” HOPE said.
“We haven’t discussed it. I want you to understand that BDSM and sex are often separate things. One doesn’t have to lead to the other,” he explained.
“If…” Had she lost what little remained of her mind? HOPE cleared her throat, then tried again. “I’m open to it.”
“Me too,” he said.
The growl threaded through his words heated her. Maybe he was right that she didn’t need to worry about getting cold. She removed her shoes and left them near the bottom stair.
He rolled the glass between his palms as he watched her. She discarded her blouse, then her bra. Beneath his gaze, her nipples hardened.
“You could do this for me every day, and I would appreciate it,” RAFE said.
She unzipped her skirt, then worked it over hips that had always been too wide. It whooshed to the tile floor. Then she stripped off her panties.
“You can either bring your clothes upstairs or put them over the back of the couch,” he instructed.
She opted for the couch, though the old her would have clutched them in front of her body to use as a shield.
“Precede me, please,” he said.
Obeying this request was more difficult than some of the others, even the one to drag the rose up her bare thigh. Her body’s flaws would be exposed to him.
Affecting bravery, she pulled back her shoulders and began to walk up the stairs. She had reached the landing before his footsteps echoed behind her. He was following, but at his own languid pace.
“Take a left turn at the top,” he instructed.
The second story was as spectacular as the first. He had a guest room with a large window that was covered with a blind. It had its own private bathroom.
His home office was as tidy as the rest of the house. One wall was covered with renderings of various Sterling hotels, some in winter settings with snow covering the nearby mountain peaks, another with an open-air lobby with the warm waters of the South Pacific beckoning.
There were others in Asia, the Le Noble in New York City, the Maison Sterling in New Orleans, and the Sterling Parkland in Washington, DC, complete with a view of the White House or Lafayette Park. A coffee-table book of the company’s history lay atop his credenza.
Pictures and portraits lined the walls, and there was a framed family tree.
Earlier she’d suggested that it must have been exciting and wonderful to be the wealthy heir apparent of the Sterling empire. Obviously, it was also a burden. Though he was a young man, he had a weariness about him that spoke of grave responsibility.
“This is part museum,” RAFE said.
“That’s on purpose. It reminds me of what I’m working toward,” he added.
“As if you’d forgotten?” HOPE asked.
He showed her the bonus room with a television and more unused couches. A full-body workout machine stood near the window.
“It has interesting possibilities for securing you in place while I do nasty things to you,” RAFE said.
She glanced over her shoulder. He wasn’t smiling, and a diabolical gleam spiked through his eyes.
“The tour is over. I’m impatient for a taste of you,” he said.
He invited her to precede him into the oversize master bedroom. There were windows on two sides, meaning it would be a sundrenched space during the day. And he had a small table and chairs.
“I’d start every morning off right here, I think,” HOPE said. It would be a perfect nook for journaling or planning her day.
“You’re welcome to see how it works for you,” RAFE said. He placed her almost-untouched water glass on the nightstand.
Another temptation. She wondered if this was how she would end up in hell, by eating one forbidden fruit at a time.
“Come here.” His tone was sharper than it had been earlier, skittering her pulse into a frenzy. He pointed to a spot in front of him.
She crossed the cool floor to stand where he indicated. Then, unsure how to act, she shifted her weight.
“Please help me off with my jacket,” she said.
She walked behind him and thought that performing the act might be awkward, but instead it was easy, part of the dominance he was using to define their roles.
“It goes in the closet,” he pointed. “On the valet.”
She’d seen that type of wooden structure in magazine ads and on designer television shows, and until now she hadn’t been sure what it was called. It had a shelf for his personal effects, a drawer for storage, and a couple of hooks, perhaps for a tie and a belt.