“So responsive,” he whispered, continuing the maddening pace of his exploration.

My hips began circling and pushing back, seeking more friction from his touch. That’s when his hand swatted my ass. It wasn’t an incredibly hard slap, but it was a hard enough crack that I yelped right before I saw him step away in my peripheral vision.

“What are you doing?” I asked with irritation in my tone. I didn’t like getting worked up just to be left hanging. If he thought my idea of a good time was being teased, he was sorely mistaken.

“Patience,” was his answer.

I huffed when he walked through a door located next to the bed. A moment later he returned with a plush towel that he laid on the floor behind me. Then he drew the chair, next to where his clothes lay, closer to the bed.

“Now, Alyssa. I want you to listen very, very carefully.”

“Okay,” I whispered, wondering where this was going.

“I want you to struggle against your binds. Pretend like you’re afraid and can’t wait to get free. And be vocal about it.” When he was done speaking, he slipped a torn strip of sheet between my lips and tied it behind my head.

How the fuck did he expect me to be vocal with a gag in my mouth?

When he didn’t say any more, I assumed he wanted me to start. A quick glance over my shoulder showed he had sat in the chair and was watching me with hooded eyes. Hunger was written all over his face, and it wasn’t for food.

Such a good-looking guy… such a kinky freak. No wonder I got this job.

Welp, if I want to make money, I best get moaning.

Pulling on the rope that bound my hands together, I didn’t need to act when I moaned out from the pain. Thank God I was still flexible from dance and gymnastics in my early adolescence. Otherwise, I’d be in a hell of a lot more pain with the unnatural way my body was positioned.

Marx’s groans and low, murmured praises spurred me on as I tugged and fought against my hold. I found myself getting worked up, imagining him behind me as he jerked himself to orgasm.

Did it make me a slut that this was turning me on more than I ever thought it could? Or did I have a dormant kinky side somewhere in me?

My inner musings were interrupted when Marx stood abruptly and grunted as he came all over the towel on the floor, ensuring no sticky cleanup.

“Very good,” he praised in a huskier voice than he had before. “I think I’ll reward you for being such a good girl.”

A light buzzing sound began behind me, and my body felt electrified when without warning he set a vibrator against my sensitive clit. His free hand pet my ass cheek as he worked me over with the toy, changing the pressure against my skin, circling it and dipping it inside my body before drawing it back up to the bundle of nerves that were screaming for attention.

Faster than I would care to admit, I found myself on the edge. Marx turned the speed up on the vibrator, pushing me over and headlong into an orgasm that had me shaking and convulsing on the bed.

When he had wrung the last of my orgasm from me, he put the vibrator on the nightstand while my body slumped as best it could onto the mattress. It had been a while since my last orgasm. My mind had been too overwhelmed with making ends meet to even consider self-gratification. Sure, this was a strange way to break the dry spell, but that didn’t make it any less satisfying.

Marx left me tied up when he took the towel into the bathroom. I heard water running and I assumed he was washing himself. He strutted back into the room, wearing low-slung pajama pants, looking just as good hardly dressed as he had earlier in his suit.

His fingers worked on the rope binding my hands. Once my arms were free, I pushed myself up so I was kneeling on the bed. A quick glance at the clock showed the whole thing was thirty minutes all-in, if that. Not too shabby.

“Did I tie you too tight?” Marx asked as his hands massaged my arms, helping to increase the circulation and stop the pinprick sensation that accompanied being tied up.

“No,” I assured him. Once the blood flow had returned to my extremities, Marx helped me up from the bed and handed me my dress while I pulled my thong back up.

“You can clean up in the bathroom,” he told me. “I’ll meet you out at the bar when you’re done.”

“Thank you.” I gave him a smile before walking into his opulent bathroom and shutting the door. Making quick work of washing up, I tried not to think about how strange it would be to face someone after doing what we had just done. And the craziest part of it all was that he was going to be paying me. Or was he? I’d never found out how this all worked. Shit. Now I felt like a heel for not at least asking before coming here.

Squaring my shoulders, I faced my reflection in the mirror. “Well, Alyssa. Nothing you can do now but go out there with your head held high and face him without any shame.”

I found Marx sitting on a stool in front of the antique looking semi-circle bar off the main living area. There were dozens of bottles lining the shelves behind it along with decanters filled with different colored liquors and glasses of all shapes and sizes. He even had a beer tap built into it.

“What can I get you?” he asked, immediately standing and rounding the bar.

“Oh, that isn’t necessary,” I tried.

“I insist,” he said in a firmer tone.

Not wanting to piss off the client, I nodded and said, “How about a vodka martini?”

“Olive or with a twist?” He raised his eyebrow on the question, and I felt my heart flutter a little at how sexy he looked. It would be so easy to pretend we were something other than what we were.

“Twist,” I answered and took a seat next to his vacated stool.

He set the drink in front of me and leaned over the bar on his elbows.

“You’re new,” he said in what I presumed was an effort to make small talk.

“What gave it away?” I asked, feeling my face burn with embarrassment. Was I that much of a greenhorn?

“Nothing. I’ve just never seen you before and I know Xavier. He would have sent you to me a long time ago if you were in his stable.”

I wrinkled my nose up at his choice of words but couldn’t really argue. I was in fact now part of someone’s stable. I fought the shudder that thought created. He chuckled at my expression and held his hands up defensively in front of himself. “Sorry. Bad choice of words.”

“No, it’s fine.” I sat up a little straighter and downed the rest of my drink, relishing the smooth taste of the expensive liquor. “I should probably go, though.”

Considering this hadn’t lasted nearly as long as I’d expected, I could still pick Sophie up at Ruth’s if I hurried. After my crazy evening, I wanted nothing more than to cuddle up with my daughter.

“I really didn’t mean to offend—” he began, but I cut him off.

“I’m not. I really just need to get going.” I stood in front of him and rose up on my tiptoes to touch his lips with mine. It might have been inappropriate, but overall Marx seemed like a decent man and I didn’t want him to think he had offended me in any way.

I was waiting for the elevator when he finally joined me. He handed me an envelope that I was tempted to open, but I felt uncomfortable doing so in front of him.

“Xavier will collect the payment tomorrow, but I wanted you to have that tip.”

Wow. A tip? That was generous. I certainly hadn’t been expecting one, but I would take it.

Maybe the driver waiting downstairs wouldn’t mind stopping at the grocery store so I could pick up a few things. A smile lit up my face at the prospect of surprising Sophie with homemade pancakes. Her favorite.

Marx gave me a devastating smile in return and leaned against the door to the elevator when I stepped inside the car. “You might be my favorite one yet. Goodnight, Alyssa Swanson.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Marx.”