He pushes on my shoulder, guiding me to lie back on the couch, placing a pillow beneath my head and arranging me carefully for comfort before sitting between my spread legs. My skin goes tight with goosebumps and my muscles twitch in anticipation of what’s to come. I feel vulnerable and hypersensitive and desperate for more.

  I want him to hurry, get me to the point of no return quickly, but it seems like that’s not Simon’s style at all. He said he wanted to worship me, and already, I feel more revered than I ever have.

  Suddenly . . . I feel it. The soft, almost feathery light touch of his lips on my upper stomach. I’ve never felt a more arousing touch in my entire life, and my head lolls. I’m not immune to insecurity, and typically, a man paying special attention to the curves of my stomach would not be high on my list of wants, but blinded, all those concerns slip away in the face of pure pleasure.

  “Oh,” I moan, shuddering. I feel more than hear him hum in answer as he places soft kisses up to the skin between my breasts. He avoids the cups and my more sensitive flesh, then returns down to my belly button, dipping his tongue in and making me gasp. He continues, kissing lower to the waistband of my panties before pulling back.

  Blinded, I can feel him hovering over me but can’t discern what he’s doing or where he’s going to touch me next. The anticipation is thrilling.

  A moment later, I feel his lips on my thighs, so soft, so arousing that my knees and thighs part further of their own volition. “Aimes-tu?”

  His voice burns with passion, with intensity and question, and I don’t know what he means . . . but I do know at the same time. “Yes,” I whimper, pressing my hips forward, urging him on. “Please, Simon.”

  I can smell my arousal and feel my panties clinging to my skin. I should feel dirty, but all I feel is lust.

  I can still see only black, but my mind fills in the image . . . Simon kneeling between my legs, his eyes fixed on my most intimate of places, him licking his lips hungrily.

  Wanting that desperately, I arch my back, hooking my thumbs in my panties and pushing them off, drawing my knees up carefully so that I don’t kick him like I did his dog before sliding them off. They drop to the floor somewhere.

  My knees are still high in the air when I feel him grasp the backs of my thighs, exposing me obscenely to his gaze. His fingertips are tight, squeezing and kneading the muscles he’s gripping. “You are lovely here too. I knew you would be. Are you as sweet as I dreamed?”

  For a long moment I wait, trembling as I anticipate feeling his lips on my sacred place.

  But it doesn’t happen right away. First, I feel Simon adjust his hold on my legs, freeing one hand. His finger touches me first, drawing smooth, slow lines through my folds and over my clit as though learning me.

  I want to see him but don’t dare take off the makeshift blindfold. I let my hands find him, though, and I’m surprised to find the bare flesh of his shoulders. I don’t know when he took off his shirt, but I’m glad he did because his skin is warm and smooth, stretched taut over his muscles.

  I open my mouth to say something, but all words, all thoughts are ripped from my brain as I feel him press his lips to my nether lips, French kissing me in a whole different way.

  What can I say?

  I fucking lose it. My hands lace into his hair and I hold him to me. I might never let him go if he keeps licking and sucking me the way he is.

  Later, I might be ashamed by how easily I come, but right now, all I know is pleasure, and already on edge, I buck into his mouth. Simon fastens his lips around my clit and sucks hard, his tongue fluttering at the same time. It’s more than I can handle.

  “Fuck, fuck . . .”

  With my eyes already closed, I squeeze them tighter and see firework-like sparkles against the blackness as my body spasms.

  “Yes,” he groans against my pussy, “so responsive.”

  That is not something a man has ever said to me, especially not in bed. Or on a couch, as the case may be. It feels like he’s praising me for coming when he’s the one who got me there in record time.

  “I’ve never . . . not that fast.” He presses a gentle kiss to my inner thigh, and I realize my honey must be coating his lips. The thought is sexy, and I want to taste myself on his lips. “Kiss me.”

  He growls a little as he shifts up my body, ferociously kissing my mouth this time. His tongue is coated in my tangy juices, the combined earthy taste of us readying me for more. I run my nails down his bare chest, and he hisses, arching into my touch. “You like it rougher?” Simon rumbles, his voice gravelly.

  I nod, blindly reaching for his belt. I feel him move from the couch and hear the soft swish of leather leaving belt loops, and then he takes my hands in his. “Just wrapped, okay?”

  I feel what he means, the leather belt simply wrapped around my hands a few times. I can get free anytime I want or choose to stay this way. “Simon, fuck me. Please.” I know the needy tone in my voice should embarrass me, but I don’t care. I’m blindfolded and belt-tied up with the sexiest man I’ve ever known, and he just made me come. I’m ready to feel his thick cock fill me.

  He chuckles, his cheek pressed to mine so he can whisper in my ear. “Ah, but you said you were not going to sleep with me tonight.” Before I can whine that a woman is allowed to change her mind, he says, “Besides, I’m not done worshiping you, Princesse.”

  Uhm, what? I already came. Isn’t that the hallmark signal to move on?

  Apparently, not to Simon.

  He moves down my body again, his fingers and tongue working in tandem. Surprisingly, it doesn’t take long until I’m squirming and writhing beneath his touch. He slips two fingers inside me, easily finding the spot that drives me wild, and then presses down on my lower belly with his palm. With his tongue battering my clit, I don’t stand a chance, even though I try to fight off the orgasm so I can stay in the space and time of this much pleasure.

  “There is no need to fight it. I will give you all the orgasms you could ever desire,” Simon mutters against my flesh. He lays a long lick from my entrance to my clit and then orders, “Come, Autumn.”

  His tone is different, but not. Still warm and reverent, but also commanding. My body responds to his order—and the promise of more orgasms—and tenses hard before flying apart.

  I cry out, senselessly tossing my head from side to side as I splinter into a million pieces, and Simon has to use his shoulders to hold my body in place for him to continue.

  But he does.

  He doesn’t give me a break this time. There’s no recovery, no coming down from the high.

  No, he starts pumping his two fingers into me hard and fast, pressing that internal button erratically and using the flat of his other hand to rub over my clit and lips. It’s like a full pussy assault and I love it. Blind and restrained, with the music long drowned out by our breathing, all I can focus on are the sensations at my core.

  “Oh, my God,” I shout. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

  I’m on the verge of something big. I can feel it deep in my belly.

  “So wet. Delicious. Your juices are like nectar of the gods. I want to drink from you, Princesse. Give me more.”

  I want to come so badly. I want to drown him in my juices if that’s what he wants. I squeeze my inner muscles tight and hear him murmuring what sounds like praises in French. I don’t know what he’s saying, but the words still work, and suddenly, I explode.

  Or implode?

  I’m not sure which, but either way, I’m floating weightlessly in blackness. Not just my vision, but my entire body. Both hyper-focused and dissociated, I can feel something amazing happening to my being that I’ve never experienced. I come and come again, or maybe it’s the same orgasm? I don’t know, but it seems to go on forever. Or maybe time has simply ceased to exist.

  My body is jolting violently and unconsciously when I come back to it, my breathing jagged and shallow. I wiggle my hands, and the belt falls away, and then I move the tie. I have to blink several times against the brightness of the room, but before I can even find Simon, I grab a pillow and cover my face with it.

  “Aaaaahhhh!” I scream into the fluffy softness.

  “Autumn?” Simon asks, sounding worried. He moves the pillow, and when I blink again, I realize that his face is lined with concern.

  “You turned me into a pillow princess,” I explain.

  “Pillow princess?”

  “A woman who gets oral and screams into the pillows because it’s so good. I was holding back so we wouldn’t scare the neighbors.”

  Simon grins proudly. “You were screaming. But no bother, I don’t have neighbors on this floor, nor the one below me right now.”

  I can feel my face flush. I didn’t realize I was being that loud.

  “I love your sounds, Princesse,” he reassures me. His eyes are dark and cloudy with desire again, his thoughts apparently going filthy now that he’s not freaking out about my screaming into pillows.

  “Fuck me.” My order doesn’t have the same effect his did.

  “You said we were not. Just . . . watch me.”

  I don’t have time to wonder what he means. He undoes his pants, pushing them down his thighs with his underwear. His cock is long and thick, the tip exposed from his foreskin. He grips himself tightly, moving his hand slowly up and down as I watch, mere inches from my belly.

  “I’ve never seen an uncircumcised man,” I whisper. It’s probably not the best thing to say, but it’s what I’m thinking.

  “What do you think?” he asks.

  I swallow as I watch him stroke himself and admit, “You’re big. I don’t know if you’re gonna fit.”

  He groans and a bead of precum appears. He swipes his thumb through it and offers it to me. I open my mouth and lick his thumb, sucking to get every bit. He hooks his thumb into my mouth, keeping it there as he vows, “I will fit anywhere you want me—this mouth, your sweet pussy, your delectable ass.”

  I nibble on his thumb, soothing it with a lick of my tongue, and he grins hungrily. He pulls his thumb out, holding my face gently, and then leans down to kiss me. Now, we truly have both our juices on our tongues, and the idea is both dirty and sexy.

  He strokes himself again, hard and fast. Every few strokes, his tip bumps against my pussy. I wouldn’t have thought I’d be able to come again for days, but the image of him jacking himself off over me is sexy as fuck. I reach between us, spreading my lips so that his bumps hit my clit, and he holds himself there as his hand blurs, faster and tighter and harder.

  “Come on me,” I tell him, and this time, my order works.

  He roars, and then his breath hitches harshly as hot pulses of his cum cover my clit and lips. His entire body spasms, and his pleasure brings me pleasure as well. I use his cream to rub my clit again, and I come once more, less intense than before but still so good.

  We’re both panting, sweaty with exertion, and I become aware of the music still playing in the background.

  “Stay there,” Simon tells me, getting up and disappearing down the hallway. He comes back a moment later with a warm, wet washcloth. I try to move, reaching for the cloth, but he pulls it back. “Non, non.”

  He swipes it gently over my skin, cleaning me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this dirty and treasured at the same time.

  I stretch my body, reaching with both my fingertips and toes so I’m as long as possible, which isn’t much, given my height. A warm buzz goes through my body when I feel the belt and blindfold on the couch where I left them.

  Did we really just do that?

  I can feel my smile growing, and I turn to hide it shyly, not wanting Simon to think I’ve fallen in love with him because of some good dick. Hell, I didn’t even get his dick yet. But I’m definitely feeling extra-friendly with his tongue and fingers.

  Wait, is that . . .

  “No! Xerxes, no!” I shout.

  Simon follows my gaze and sees what I’ve already seen. Xerxes, the tiny monster, has my panties in his mouth, parading them around like a prize trophy at the county fair.

  “Xerxes, laisse tomber.”

  “What’s that mean?” I ask, getting up from the couch.

  “Drop it,” he answers. “Like ‘drop the toy’, or the underwear, in this case. Though if you feel the need to drop your ass lower, that would be acceptable to me too.”

  “My ass?” I repeat, looking back at it a bit and realizing that the crouching position I’m in to get closer to Xerxes and my stolen panties isn’t doing me any favors, though it seems Simon doesn’t mind it.

  “Sexy, curvy, tight ass . . . yes.” Simon tilts his head like he wants an even better view and I can’t help but laugh. But back to the matter at hand . . . my favorite undies!

  “Laisse tomber,” I repeat, reasonably sure it’s close-ish to the instruction Xerxes knows. Xerxes freezes, his tiny body perfectly still as I step closer and reach for him, but just as I’m about to grab my panties, the overgrown rat bounds away and I trip over my own feet. I end up in a tangled heap by the front door. “Damn it!”

  Simon’s up immediately, coming to help me and not giving a damn that his dog is running around the room with a Great Dane-sized case of the zoomies in his teeny, tiny body. Oh, and of course, he’s still got my panties in his mouth, damn near blowing in the wind as he runs.

  “Are you okay?” Simon bends down, helping me to get my feet back underneath me.

  I nod, still doing a mental check that everything seems to be in working order. Yep, the only thing feeling anything is my pussy and she feels well-loved.

  Simon makes a sharp whistling sound and says, “Arrête, Xerxes! Asseoir! Lâcher!”

  And happy as can be, the dog sits, drops my panties, and pants with his tongue lolling out. Cute little thieving beast. I pick up my undies and make a face. They’re ruined from his tiny teeth on the delicate lace. “Where’s your trash?” I ask Simon, but he takes them from me and disappears to the kitchen. I pick up my dress from where Simon laid it on the couch and begin to pull it on.

  “I am so sorry. I’ll replace them using Xerxes’s snack budget,” Simon promises as he comes back. Almost as if he understands, Xerxes barks at Simon as if to say, ‘No way!’

  I glare at the dog, zipping my dress. “It’d serve you right.” To Simon, I say, “I don’t think he likes me very much. I’m usually good with animals, especially dogs.”

  Simon picks up the diva dog, who seems instantly happier at Simon’s touch. “He’s a bit jealous when other people take my time and attention.”

  I understand that, little man!

  “It’s okay. I should get home anyway, get some sleep before going to the workroom tomorrow and let Xerxes have a bit of Daddy time.” I swear to God, the dog smiles in victory.

  Simon argues, “You don’t have to go.” But when I continue getting dressed, slipping my heels back on, he gives in. “All right, let me get dressed and I’ll take you if you must go. But next time? Plan to stay.”

  Next time? There’s going to be a next time? Whoop-whoop!

  My pussy perks right up at that, getting wet like the little slut she is. But I do think a bit of processing after tonight would be a good thing. Simon says he wants to worship me, and damn, did he, but there’s still a little seed of worry in my gut about this whole thing.

  Actually, two seeds of worry. Neither of them particularly small.

  One, the competition and whether this is some form of cheating even though we’re not talking about the contest or designers. And two, how can Simon Corbin really be this interested in me?

  I’m still rocking my 7.9, and now, knowing that Simon is also kind-hearted, witty, and a fantastic lover, he’s moving on up the scale. I gotta go at least fifteen now, which makes him even further out of my league. But if he keeps making me come like that, I could probably overlook that, I think with a shiver of satisfaction.

  CHAPTER 13

  AUTUMN

  “Wow,” says Molly, looking around the huge space before us with enormous eyes, “this place is humongous.”

  She’s usually much more dramatic. I would’ve expected her to compare the room to the Grand Canyon or outer space. But she’s as gobsmacked as the rest of us at seeing the converted warehouse that House Corbin is using for the fashion show.

  We’ve already been feeling the pressure, the five of us working all hours of the day and night on our designs, struggling with choices that feel like life or death but are ultimately mere fabric. But the results of our creativity will affect our lives, determining whether our dreams come true or fizzle. And that’s way more important than sleep, food, or calling home.

  I haven’t seen Katarina consume more than coffee and cigarettes in days. Yori has taken to muttering to herself in Japanese, the sounds so repetitive that they've become melodic. Like a song I don’t know the words to, but understand on a visceral level. Beatrice threw away a piece she’d worked on for hours before going into the restroom and screaming for ten minutes nonstop. Molly moved outside to work, claiming she needed the sun’s rays to bless her hand-stitching. And me? I’ve been near red-level freakout mode on every front.

  My work. The competition. The almost-sex with Simon.

  This space isn’t helping. It’s another trigger that’s moving me closer to the edge. I gawk, trying to imagine what it’ll look like tomorrow.

  The stage is in the middle, wider than some runways I’ve seen but not super-huge, with a triangular split at the base that creates a clear entrance and exit track for models to walk.

  Beside either side of the stage are multiple rows of chairs . . . or there will be once the workers who are scurrying around, getting everything set up, get the final touches done.

  There’s a lot going into this. This isn’t going to be some student runway or in-house only competition. No, this is the real deal, with lighting, cameras for broadcasting over the internet, seats for press, for buyers . . . this is what I got into fashion for.