Frayed

"The Rubicons which women must cross,

the sex barriers which they must breach,

are ultimately those that exist in their own minds"

-Freda Alder

CHAPTER 4- LESSONS LEARNED

"My apologies, Emily, we can't continue like this." The Man said calmly as he turned on his heel and headed for the door.

Her face turned the color of fog. Now would be a good time for her to cut her losses; take the out he was offering and run. Fast. That's what a smart female would do.

Apparently she was as smart as a rock.

Emily jogged up to him, tugging on his sleeve and stepping in front of him, pulling up short as he almost bull dozed her over. "Wait! What did I do wrong?"

"'What did I do wrong' she asks?" he scoffed, shaking his head. "You really don't know? You're a smart girl, I'm sure you can figure it out." He glanced at the hand on his arm and plucked his sleeve out of her hold.

"Tell me you, bastard, why are you leaving?" She screamed at him and stomped her foot like an errant child having a temper tantrum.

Silence.

She cocked her head and watched him eat up space with his long legs, pacing between her and the bar... step, step, stroke of the tie... step, step, stroke ... step, step, stroke ...

At what seemed to be his hundredth time of the back and forth he abruptly stopped in front of her; his jaw was clinched tight and lips had tightened into a thin line. "This-" The Man fisted the boy shorts snugly sitting on Emily's waist and yanked them up so high that the crotch disappeared into her folds, "-this is the problem." He snarled, pulling the panties higher into her until the material finally gave way and cleaved in two.

Those little lacy boy shorts revealed more than they covered. They melded to her heart shaped ass perfectly and hung low on her hips barely covering her pubic bone.

Why did she have to be so damned desirable? She tempted him in a way no other woman had and not being in control of his feelings was not an option. He didn't know what pissed him off more: The fact that she wore them or the fact that he hated his reaction to her wearing them.

"I gave you a simple request. Do not wear undergarments." He dangled the expensive rags in front of her. "You couldn't execute even the simplest of instructions." His voice was impossibly cold and the look in his eyes could have frozen the sun. "I thought we had an understanding. I was mistaken. You're free to stay in the room and make use of all the restaurants and shops in the hotel; just give them this suite number. The plane will take you home tomorrow; my attorney will contact you with the details." He dropped the panties on the floor at his feet and continued en route to the door.

She shook her head and her heart was pounding loudly in her ears. "Wait! I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking." She pleaded, sliding in front of him again and put both of her hands on his shoulders. It was like trying to stop a tank.

Emily knew she shouldn't have worn the panties so it shouldn't have come as such a surprise to her that he was angry. This was a man, who commanded respect with just a look; one who had a cool confidence and a don't-fuck-with-me attitude.

Since their last encounter, in the Mediterranean, Emily hadn't been the same. Her lover had unlocked her Pandora's Box of inhibitions and released some of her inner demons, now the rest were desperate to join in the escape.

Since then her husband had increasingly become concerned for her well-being. It disturbed him that she was growing more and more distant. He loved his wife and wanted her back, though it might already be too late.

The Man's attorney/ bodyguard picked up the phone call on the first ring as if expecting it. Two phone calls later the travel arrangements were finalized. She was told not to bother packing anything; any items she needed would be provided to her on her arrival.

In that apathetic voice of his the attorney also stressed that she shouldn't wear any undergarments. The request caught her off guard but didn't surprise her.

Once the plane landed in Vegas she was promptly taken to her hotel. She thought she'd have time to freshen up before she met up with The Man; she hadn't expected him to be waiting for her inside her room- big mistake. Then again, it was her my-bad to have assumed she'd have a room to herself. She was, after all, there to share her body with him.

The room was beyond anything she could have ever imagined. The posh ten thousand square foot suite came with a personal concierge, private kitchen with chef, billiard table, fireplace, and an incredible view of the city.

The Man palmed Emily's shaved sex and squeezed hard. Juices oozed out of the folds and trickled on to his hand; she had been wet since she boarded the plane. Pain blossomed between her legs, her hips pushed forward into his hand trying to relive some of the pressure but it only increased as he dug is fingers in more and tugged the heavy mound forward.

He looked deep into her eyes as if he were searching for something. "You will not get another chance. Do you understand?"

She sagged. "God, yes. I'm-"

"Do not speak." He growled in warning.

She pursued her lip. Yep... zipped up nice and tight.

The Man towered over Emily and herded her back, like an unleashed predator, until her back was flush with the massive sliding glass doors that overlooked the glistening infinity pool adjacent to their accommodations.

Placing a paw of a hand on one side of her head and the other at her side; the sheer size of him boxed her in. The nearness of him practically made her dizzy.

Wavering as if she had had one too many cocktails she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. He smelt mouthwatering. The intoxicating smell was not from cologne but the fresh-out-of-the-shower smell from shampoos and soaps; earthy with a tinge of a spice that instantly soothed her. There was a slight hint of mint on his breath as it feathered across her cheek. An unbridled sexuality oozed out of him like he was born to please.

Growling, he cupped both sides of her jaw; his thumbs under her chin to keep it tilted up and locked in place. The chastising kiss had nothing to do with the fact that he had thought of her to the point of distraction. Nope. Nothing. At. all.

He put every bit of his irritation into the mouth-to-mouth action: Nipping at her tongue and lips, his tongue darting in and out from the sword play. He kept up with the punishment until her lips were kiss swollen, her body pliant, and she moaning softly into his mouth.

The Man's fingers lightly wrapped around her throat, her carotid artery thumped heavily under his fingers. He melded his big body to hers so tightly that the simple of task of her breathing had become arduous. Then, when their breath finally synced up, it was as if he was breathing for the both of them.

"You will do what I ask of you when I ask it." His upper lip curled into a feral snarl. "If I tell you to fuck another woman, you will do it. If I tell you to take your clothes off for strangers, you will do it. And, if I tell you not to wear panties, you will not wear panties." He paused for a long moment, "Nod if you understand."

Dropping her eyes she gave him a pitchers nod - and thank God for that. He would have ended up spending the whole day disciplining her with his cock if those incredible green eyes of hers had even so much as glanced at him. And as much as that idea appealed to him he did have obligations that needed tending too.

He put his forehead to hers, "Thank fuck." He said on low exhale. The tension melted out of his face making him look ten years younger.

His body let out shutter, like a car finally kicking into gear. She probably hadn't even realized that her hands were resting on his hips. But he damn sure did. Their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces and he was acutely aware of where every inch of her body touched his. How her breasts were flush to his chest; how her thighs were tangled with his; how his chin could easily rest on the top of her head.

Clearing his throat he took a step back and ran his hands down his immaculate tie as if ironing out imaginary wrinkles. "As much as I enjoy watching those luscious tits of yours make Mickey's ears move in that tight little t-shirt of yours-"he winked playfully and flashed rows of straight white teeth, "- I don't think it's appropriate for dinner tonight so I have a few trinkets coming for you."

Emily blinked once...twice... three times... Did he just make a joke? Holy shit! Charles Alexander actually made a joke. She felt like a freaking idiot as a smile the size of the Grand Canyon split her face. If she thought he was attractive before she was wrong; the eye action had her melting like ice cream on a hot summer day. But how could she not? The knowing smirk on his face was devastatingly handsome and a promise of things to come.

"Now, I have to leave for a bit to tend to some work matters." Work, yeah, he had work to do; that was why he was in Vegas for after all. Before he headed back to the daily grind he had to hit the gym and work off some of his frustration. There were only two things that kept him level... fighting and fucking. And when doing multi-million dollar business transactions one needed to make sure their bubble was dead center.

"Pick out your favorites," his blue marbles wondered over her body as if imagining her some of the items. "And wear only those items." He said with a level gaze as if to say do-not-test-me-again.

Noted.

Charles's warm up had been a nice leisurely ten mile run on the treadmill with the incline jacked to the top and a speed to match. How he was able to run was beyond him. His cock was like solid iron in the flimsy b-ball shorts and he hoped like hell no one noticed.

He refused to allow himself to lose control around Emily. But the sight of her in that adorable old school Mickey Mouse t-shirt, and the beautiful way she blushed, practically had him between her thighs tongue fucking her until her honey coated his face and she was screaming for the mercy.

And Christ, the way she looked in those panties. He had hardened instantly and almost regretted ripping them to shreds. Almost.

He always prided himself on being firm but fair. In the scheme of infractions her little panty episode was a minor act of defiance. She was testing him, as she should. He would have been surprised if she hadn't tested the waters, maybe even a little disappointed if she hadn't. She wanted someone who would take her to the edge, push her sexual boundaries beyond what she thought capable of and not back down.

However, earning a woman's submission is a whole other story, true submission isn't just given, it's earned and he had a long way to go before he earned hers.

Maybe he was just reading too much into her misstep. It could have been as simple as her thinking he would just enjoy seeing her in those distractedly tight panties, which of course he did. But that wasn't the point was it.

Ignoring the screaming muscles in his thighs and the burning in his lungs he cranked the fucker higher.

This wasn't the first time he had to walk away from her either- just the first she'd known about it. The first was a few months back at the other hotel.

He had left her to her husband and spent the next hour pacing like a caged animal and cursing, in eight different languages, all the while trying to get his erection in check. He spent the full sixty minutes thinking of: cold showers, granny panties, and anything else he found distasteful to make his cock deflate. It didn't work then and it wasn't working now. Apparently, his cock had reverted back to puberty mode with no intention of listening to reason.

But, Christ, the way her body responded to him. He shivered at the thought. She had been hot and slick and ready for him the whole time; her body just begging to be fucked, and when she passed out after her orgasm... nothing but smug male satisfaction.

As soon as he felt his muscles starting to give out, and not wanting to deal with the humiliation of face planting on the damn thing, he stopped the treadmill and hopped off. Now that he was warmed up; let the real workout begin.

Charles headed to the MMA octagon; taking his gear with him. Ducking into the cage he dropped everything but the hand wraps, and quickly mummified his hands and wrists. Padded knuckle gloves next. All standard issued stuff. Mouth guard, yep, not planning on having any dental work done tonight. Open faced headgear, only because he still had business in Vegas to attend to and having a busted up face wasn't exactly professional; not that he gave a shit.

Maybe I shouldn't wear any headgear at all; might get some sense knocked into me.

Charles popped in his Everlast mouth guard and bounced lightly on the balls of his feet. Nodding to his opponent, the fighter across from him inclining his head back, they both stepped forward and pounded knuckles. Translation: I want a real ground and pound; balls to the walls kind of fight so don't hold anything back- not that Steve ever did. As a professional MMA fighter, with several titles under his belt, Steve always went full tilt and that's why Charles loved the guy.

A sharp jab to the face made pain explode across Charles's cheek and he saw stars.

Fuuuck that feels good!

*******

An overwhelming suffocating feeling slammed into Emily making her lungs seize up. Where did all the air in the room go? Was it possible to feel claustrophobic in a hotel room that was the size of the White House? Apparently so- because Emily's chest tightened, legs turned all wet noodle, and she slid down the doors until her butt hit the high gloss wood.

She scrubbed her face with her hands. Charles was so much more than she remembered: More handsome; more intense; more... intimidating.

She could have said no to the reunion-should have said no- and told the limo driver to turn the big boat around and take her back to her husband. And, Christ... the look on her husband's face when she drove off was gut-wrenching. He just stared at the limo trying to pull a Yoda and make the thing stop.

She didn't have to get on the plane or walk through the door of the hotel room either. But she did. When the bolt on the hotel door latched into place she felt her commitment to Charles lock in place too.

She knocked the back of her skull against the wall a couple of times. "Like getting a concussion is really gonna help." She muttered to herself rubbing the back of her head.

She rubbed her sweaty palms on her shirt...Ok... Ok... Think of something else. Dinner. Dinner was a safe topic. Where would they go? He'd probably take her to some fancy-schmancy five star restaurant that would have fourteen courses- all the size of a quarter. And considering the mood she was in it would all taste like cardboard.

A volley of knocks on the door pulled her out of her thoughts. When she didn't answer right away another series came at her...and a third.

The pounding was so not helping her headache. She cleared her throat and swiped her fingers under her eyes collecting the wetness. "One moment!"

Bracing her arms against the wall she pushed herself up. Her ass was numb from being perched on the highly polished wood. How long had she been sitting there; ten minutes... an hour... days... hell if she knew.

And where were her jeans? She very well couldn't answer the door with her ass hanging out. Looking around she finally found them. How did they get to the top of the steps?

A few trinkets my ass Emily thought as she eyed the thousands of dollars' worth of designer duds, and the accouterments that accompanied them, that were neatly hanging from several massive rolling racks.

It had taken hours for Emily to complete the evening's ensemble, hair and makeup done, waxing, tweezing, buffed and polished, but it had been sooo worth it.

The body hugging little black Versace dress she had been ogling in the store fit her perfectly. And the strappy two thousand dollar Jimmy Choo shoes just happened to be her size. Imagine that.

She fingered the pearl tassel style earrings hanging from her ears; Tiffany of course. The matching bracelet had ten rows for perfectly shaped pearls set off by a sterling silver clasp. Simple. Elegant. Beautiful.

She had barely glanced at them or any of the objects as her and the bodyguard/attorney walked through the concourse of the hotel. How could Charles have known she'd like them, or was he just guessing? Her husband would have never been astute enough to buy the ensemble for her, even if he could have afforded the ten thousand dollar price tag.

Her husband always used the excuse that 'he didn't know what she'd liked'. But really, after ten years of marriage he still hadn't figured it out? She had simple elegant taste; all he had to do was pay attention. Maybe rummage through her jewelry box or check out the accessories she was wearing at the moment. Or hey, here's a novel idea: ask her.

She didn't know when Charles would be home but one did not want to keep a man like Charles Alexander waiting. Putting one foot in front of the other she hit the stairs to start her descent. She just hoped like hell she'd survive the crash.

Charles was at the well-stocked bar pouring himself a glass of Dalmor when a bottle of Modori caught his eye. The gleaming color was the same as her eyes but she, by far, tasted sweeter than the liquor did.

The sharp clip of her Jimmy's had him swiveling his head like an owl.

He nodded in approval and set the untouched drink down. "Stunning."

She was positively glowing in the 1950's inspired black dress that was just the right balance between sexy and elegant and suited her well. The halter-top style molded to her breasts making them look fuller and higher; the skirt was tea length showing off just enough of her toned legs but not so short as to be slutty; and the back was nonexistent.

Taking the hand that was offered she stepped off the last step; her sky high heels clipping loudly on the smooth floor. "I'm glad you like," she answered with a coy smile. "You don't look half bad yourself."

Charles looked better than any male model on a runway; breeding and sophistication bleeding out of him. The dove grey two button down Prada suite coat made his shoulders look even wider and slim fit pants taller than his six-three. A tie, slightly darker than the suit, was sandwiched between a light grey mesh vest and crisp white shirt; belt and boots by Ferragamo. Accessories: conservative Rolex wrist watch coming in at a cool five thousand. No Jacob the Jeweler bling for him; men like Charles Alexander didn't need all that sparkle to make a statement.

He leaned in and kissed each cheek, European style, then did a three-sixty around her. Fucking Beautiful. He stopped at her back and couldn't resist the impulse to run a finger from nape to hip. His mouth lifted at the corners when he found a particularly ticklish spot and goose flesh dimpled her back.

He his arms cinched around her waist and drew her close. "I'm supposed to be ogling you, not the other way around." He said on a warm chuckle. He dipped his head down in the crook of her neck expecting to smell one of the expensive perfumes he picked for her but instead he got a nose full of something sweet and fruity. Delicious.

"You didn't like the perfume?"

She shuddered when his warm breath breezed across her neck. "Um...no... I prefer something a bit more natural smelling. I hope that was ok. If you don't like it I'll wear the Chanel next time."

He inhaled again, skimming the tip of his nose up and down the hollow of her neck. "I like it. In fact I think you should wear it all the time." He said smiling into her shoulder and giving it a little nip.

She had no idea how he'd react to her wearing something he didn't pick out. But the fact that there were fifteen fragrances to choose was quite a tell. In fact, he seemed pleased she had chosen her own. So pleased, in fact, that she felt his erection against the small of her back.