The Wildcard

Chapter Twenty

I'd spent the entire afternoon crossing and uncrossing my legs uncomfortably under my desk; my thighs clenched together so hard that the muscles actually ached with the strain, so later that evening, as I twirled my hair around a curling tong and finally got my weary hands on an ice cold glass of Pinot, I was bubbling with the excitement of seeing him again.
My phone had let out a stark vibration against my desk at quarter to five - breaking into the concentration that I was trying so hard to maintain on a few of the marketing accounts.
From: Cayden
Adam will pick you up at exactly 5. I won't have you complaining about overtime and using that as an excuse to dodge me by manipulating my love of cold, hard cash. Pack an overnight bag, and don't wear panties - I've been thinking about your soaking pussy all afternoon xx
Just like that, the arousal that I'd been trying to appease and subdue all afternoon rose up inside me like a phoenix. It occurs to me that I'm something of a slave to him sexually - that somewhere over the course of our acquaintance I'd lost the power over my own desires and I was totally at his mercy.
The feminist in me would have been absolutely raging had she not been as completely bewitched by him as I was.
I'd been ready and waiting as the clock hit five, and almost down to the second there was a swift, efficient rap on my office door, and a handsome blond head popped around the jamb with a charming, professional smile.
Back at my dressing table, I had no idea what to wear for our date - with less than forty minutes to go before Cayden picked me up I was beginning to panic - nerves dancing under every inch of flesh as I coiled the last section of my blonde hair around the iron - fresh and crisp with the scent of cocoa from the ridiculously expensive shampoo that Ryan kept me stocked up with. I fumbled with the tongs - cursing under my breath as I caught the tip with my thumb - and decided to just bite the bullet and text him to find out where we were going. I hadn't wanted to, I hated drawing attention to the fact that he had all the power in this, but I couldn't dress for an occasion if I didn't have a clue what it was! Pulling my iPhone from my purse, my fingers stilled as I noticed the list of calls I'd missed from a withheld number - ten? Twenty? - but there was no indication on the voicemail, so I opened up my messaging app before giving it a second thought, and scrolled down to his last message.
To: Cayden
I know you're primarily a man of mystery, but any chance of telling me where you're taking me this evening? X
I didn't know too much about Cayden Gates, granted, he was still something of an enigma to me - almost as closed off as me in his own way - but I knew enough to know that, if he wanted to leave me at a disadvantage with the rest of the evening, he would. Hell, hadn't he proved that so far with that little voyeuristic stunt at the restaurant?
So, in a counter move, when my phone trilled out that bloody irritating high-pitched squeal that I really needed to change, and his name flashed across my screen like a blazing beacon, I was scrambling across various piles of discarded outfits and dresses over my unmade bed in a desperate bid to reach it in time. He would have to call me, wouldn't he? Texting just didn't demand the same level of immediate response. Even when he wasn't in the room, I was completely at his mercy with these little games he played.
I pictured him - elegant, charismatic and relaxed - with his Armani jeans riding low on his narrow hips, and a state of the art Blackberry at his ear as he looked out of his penthouse suite window at the metropolitan London skyline - chuckling into the phone at me. His bare chest glistening in the faint shards of moonlight that leaked through the glass - bronzed cosmopolitan perfection and primitive, animalistic narcissism all exquisitely blended into pure, unadulterated maleness.
While I fumbled through my various contraband designer dresses on the single bed for a two year old iPhone I'd bought for£150 in one of the local pubs back home off a dubious looking character in a hoody that swore to me that the fact that the security label had obviously been scratched away with a safety pin was absolutely nothing that I needed to worry about, and it was all "kosher".
The contrast between us was stark and glaringly obvious.
"Hello," I breathlessly panted out - collapsing in relief on a tiny gold Vera Wang dress that Ryan had pilfered from a spread he'd done with an up and coming young Spanish model for Glamour magazine.
I sounded like a nervous schoolgirl.
"No need to rush to the phone princess, I'd have waited," he chuckled, and I could hear the gentle clink of ice cubes against crystal in the background. While I was twisting my body into some very unsexy poses in order to keep the towel tucked against my chest as I was talking to him, he was pouring himself a bourbon, mocking me! I smiled in spite of myself at the suave, urban sophistication of the smug bastard that had my stomach in knots and my panties in a twist ... On the floor sound my ankles, usually.
"Of course you would," I hoped he could hear the biting sarcasm in my voice as I carelessly threw aside a Prada mini-dress onto the back of my chair - black and lacy, it was classy and chic, reaching just above the knee in a slender, figure-hugging silhouette. It would probably work for most dates - as long as we weren't doing something ridiculous like bowling, "So what's the verdict? Will you be telling me?"
God, I hoped it wasn't bowling. I felt inadequate enough around him without throwing mustard yellow non-slip brogues into the mix; that would just notch up my humiliation to unbearable levels.
"How about you tell me my options first?"
He sounded like he was settling back against the plush cushions - a short contented burst of appreciation brushing through his lips as the ice clinked in the glass at the other end of the line. I imagined his full lips - saw them in my mind as his tongue slipped over the beads of Jim Beam at the corner of his mouth savouring every last drop of the whiskey. My heart was drumming against my ribs - the bastard was turning me into a god-damn sex fiend!
"Your options? Won't I be the one wearing the clothes?"
"Not for long if I have my way," he muttered softly, his voice a dark drawl that trailed down my spine tightening every muscle in its wake, "But beyond that, when you dress sexy, you're dressing for me, and only me. So I want to decide what my options are for the surprise date that I have planned for us."
And today's game, folks ...
"I have a little black Prada? Or jeans and a jumper?"
"Here I was, hoping we could start with the lingerie..."
"Oh no, I have that box ticked thank you."
I smiled in anticipation - my body zinging to life at the thought of his eyes as they dropped down onto the hot-Pink, boned corset that I planned to put under anything that I might be wearing. Vivid and bright against my tanned skin, it was beyond seductive, and pushed my chest into the kind of perfect cleavage I never dreamed I could achieve before I bought it. Even though I was forbidden to bring along my panties, if I wore the Prada, I had the perfect pair of silk black stockings to hook up to the garter that would frame my bare sex.
Pay back, for leaving me clinging with my fingertips to an orgasm just out of my reach for an entire afternoon.
"Intriguing. Go with the Prada," I heard him quickly knock back what I assumed was the entire contents of his drink, "I'll be with you in fifteen minutes."
******************
Adam rang the intercom exactly fifteen minutes later, and I kissed Ryan lightly on the cheek as I passed him, perched nonchalantly on a stool with a microwave meal watching tv from the breakfast bar. I grabbed my keys, my overnight bag and the Chanel I'd been carting around with me all day before slamming the door unceremoniously behind me with a breathless goodbye to my best friend.
I squared my shoulders outside the door to the flat, catching my breath before slowly making my way down the staircase as though I was Cinderella wandering - as if she was really meant to be there all along - into the masquerade party in the grand parlour beneath her. I wasn't Cinderella, a tiny scratching voice was whispering at the back of my mind, but it sounded so much like my mother I just decided to block it out and roll with the chips that life seemed to be throwing my way at this table.
Adam took my overnight bag before my thin sequinned stiletto had even touched the concrete outside, and I threw him a grateful smile as he cocked his head professionally, and pulled open the back door of the sleek black Hummer limo that was running idly in front of my apartment building. The car was so Cayden that I wasn't even surprised, especially when I caught the dirty gleam in his pale eyes as he lounged against the corner of the leather upholstery with a cocky smirk - masculine, imposing against the quiet suburban residential area, it was a reflection of the man himself - putting everything in its path to shame with an explicit display of unquestionable power.
My stomach swirled with anticipation; a greedy, desperate need gripping my sex as soon as my eyes met his. Midnight black hair hung artfully around his hard features in an unruly state that would have looked scruffy on any other man, and he was dressed casually (at least, for him) in a slate grey Prada shirt and those perfect Armani jeans that hugged the thick ropes of muscle in his thighs.
As he reached out a hand to help me into the back of the car, an 18 carat diamond glistened in the dim interior light from the bold platinum setting of his cuff link.
That one piece of jewellery must've cost more than my entire outfit - which would've been bloody expensive had I actually had to buy it!
I took the strong hand he offered, somewhat naively in retrospect, thinking that he was being deliciously chivalrous ... Until I was hauled quite ungraciously into his lap - the rigid outline of his hard sex glaringly obvious against my ass - and the faint graze of stubble chafed against my jaw as he nuzzled my neck almost desperately.
"Fuck, you smell delicious," he groaned, grinding my ass into his stirring cock seductively with a hard, possessive grip on my hip, "But I need to know what you're wearing under this dress. It's driven me mad now for the last seventeen minutes and forty three seconds!"
"Patience is a virtue," I pulled away from his wandering hands and folded myself into the leather seat at his side, dodging the greedy fingers, "Exercise it. And maybe get me a drink so that I can relax right here next to you. The bones in these things can get a little constrictive."
I wiggled the hem of my dress a little further down my legs for effect, shifting in my seat and trying to dampen down the raging desire that was clenching at my core as I winked at him, trying for Marilyn Monroe levels of sauciness.
His face was an absolute picture - jaw almost hitting his chest,verity a rising flush over his hard, angular cheekbones, and those pale eyes were heated and dark with a blatant desire left unfulfilled. I saw the exact moment that realisation dawned - the memories of our lunch bleeding into the pale orbs as he threw back his beautiful head and let out a gruff laugh, curling one hand possessively around my bare shoulder and pulling me into his hard, hot body.
"You'll be the death of me you little minx," he whispered against my lips as he coaxed me into a soft, affectionate kiss, "But watching you think you've won this hand is almost as good as taking it back in the next round."
I smirked against his soft lips, spearing my hands into the unruly mane of dark hair to pull him into me, almost giving in to the desire to throw in my cards, strip down to my underwear and get on my knees in the back of that rock-star ride - surprise dates be damned.
I knew he was right - he would win back his hand - he always did. But with him, these games were all a part of his magic. I loved the thrill of unpredictability that seemed to seep out of every second that we shared together; I loves never knowing what his next hand would bring. If that meant keeping my cards close to me chest and my chips on the table, then so be it.