Kiki's Millionaire (12 page)

“That blue one looks nice on you,” he whispered in her
ear.

A shiver of pure lust traveled through her torso,
distracting her from her problem for a moment.

“If you need a dress, sweetheart, go and get one.”

She stepped away from him, focusing on her suitcase
again, unwilling to meet his eyes. “It’s not that easy, Jim.”

“Sure it is. Have Ernie take you to Saks, find a dress
you like, put it on my account and voila!”

“You know I can’t do that,” she reminded him.

He frowned down at her. “You mean you won’t do that.”

“Ernie can take me to Walmart. I’ll find something
there.” And I’ll look like a transient prom queen.

“You must be joking.”

“It’s practical. I can pay for myself that way.”

“You know, Kiki, this whole ‘do not be dependent on
Jim’ thing is getting pretty tired.” He stalked away and sat in a wingback
chair in the corner. The chair was too small for him and his shoulders didn’t
quite fit. He twisted uncomfortably, finally standing up again and crossing his
arms over his broad chest.

She liked it better when he was sitting down.

“It’s the way I am, Jim. It’s how I was raised. I have
always only had myself to rely on. There was my mom for a while, but she was
always so busy trying to keep us out of poverty. I dealt with my problems
myself.” She turned away from him again. “I don’t know why it matters to you so
much. You’re not trying to buy me, are you?”

“You know I’m not.”

“Well, then let me deal with the problem my own godd-
gosh darn way.”

He frowned mightily, but didn’t argue any further.

The next day, Ernie drove her to a little boutique in
Los Gatos where there were used dresses on consignment. Over the last few
years, she’d found several gems there, and she wasn’t disappointed this time.
Although it took a chunk of her savings, considerably more than Walmart would
have set her back, she got a pair of two-year-old designer dresses at a
fraction of their original price.

Consequently, she wasn’t ashamed accompanying Jim on
his weekly trips to Los Angeles to oversee the eminent release of his new
computer hardware line. Maybe her dresses weren’t the latest, chic fashions
from Paris, but then, she wasn’t the latest chic supermodel either. No one at
any of the cocktail parties was out-and-out rude to her, though some people
were more challenging than others.

The first of Jim’s women was particularly annoying.
She’d sauntered up to Jim and gave him a big hug and air kisses, then held his
face and kissed him right on the lips.

Kiki tried not to frown, tried to behave as though it
was normal for a tall, blonde, fashion doll of a woman to come up and kiss her
boyfriend on the lips.

To his credit, Jim didn’t kiss her back, putting her
away from him with both hands on her clinging arms. “Monica,” he said with a
tight smile. “It’s been a while. Have you met my girlfriend, Kiki?”

The woman blinked twice then pretended to look around.
“No, Jim! Where is she?”

Kiki nearly growled in response. “I’m Kiki.”

Monica looked down, right down her nose, in fact. “Oh.
Nice to meet you, dear.” She turned back to Jim. “So, how have you been, lover?
We have so much to talk about! What have you been up to since Cannes?”

Kiki could see Jim was both embarrassed and irritated
by the way he gritted his teeth before he spoke. “That was last year, Monica.”

“Has it been so long? I’ve missed you.” She raked her
long, red fingernails down his suit coat. The material made a soft scritching
sound. Leaning in, she said in a mock whisper, “Do you still have that little
paddle with the leather cover?”

Kiki knew she was meant to hear it, and her temper
flared, both at Monica and at Jim. Obviously, she wasn’t his first spankee.
Well, it wasn’t like she hadn’t known it intellectually. But to be confronted
with his ex-lover like this really chapped her ass. Kiki squeezed her wine
glass so hard she realized she might break it if she didn’t calm down.

Jim must have caught Kiki’s look because he gave her a
little shake of his head. “We’ll have to catch up some other time, Monica. Kiki
and I were just on our way over to talk to Owen Namuth. I hope you’ll excuse
us.” He didn’t wait for an answer, but took Kiki’s free hand in his and walked
her straight over to the famous financier.

Monica was only the first. There were three other such
incidents in Los Angeles while Kiki was alongside.

The night they ran away from a curvy redhead named
Christa, Kiki confronted him. She tried to do it with good humor—these
affairs were in his past, after all, something he couldn’t change—but she
knew she sounded like a fishwife.

“Another day, another drop-dead gorgeous fan!”

He didn’t respond.

“How many, Jim?”

He hung up his suit coat in the hotel room closet.
“How many what?”

“How many women who know you are we going to run into
at these affairs?”

He had the grace to go a little red under his tan.
“Not too many…more.”

“My God! You were a fuckin’ machine!”

He frowned and took off his shirt.

Kiki tried to concentrate on their argument and
keeping up her dudgeon even though the hard breadth of his chest distracted
her.

“Watch your language, Kiki. We might be in a hotel,
but I can still paddle you.”

“Like you’ve paddled all the rest? Can’t you think of
anything new to do?” She knew she sounded snide. And jealous. And unreasonable.

He pulled his belt out of his pants and Kiki quickly
moved away, putting the big bed between them. All he did was sigh and throw it
into a chair, though. His day-long beard sounded like sharkskin under his
hands. “What do you want me to say? I’m not a monk.”

She snorted. “That’s for sure.”

“Come here, baby.”

Kiki eyed him warily. He wasn’t prone to sneak
attacks. She slowly rounded the bed and moved within arm’s length of him. He
caught her up and pulled her against his bare chest.

“They don’t mean anything to me. They never did. I had
needs and they were available. They got what they wanted, and so did I.” He
squeezed her. “It’s not like with you, Kiki.”

Her irritability began to flow away like a smoke ring.
“What’s it like with me, Jim?”

“It’s special.”

Special. What did that mean? Was this something she
could hang a hope on? It was obvious that Jim could have affairs that didn’t
involve his heart.

How much of the distance between them was because of
his dead wife? He never talked about Isabella--a person whom Kiki hadn’t been
able to resist looking up on the ‘net. Just as Ginny said, when the beautiful
woman had died, he had been painted as the broken-hearted widower by all the
news outlets. It didn’t look like PR to Kiki. She saw the photos of him at the
funeral. His face looked haggard, tired, grim. Later photos hadn’t been much
better. It seemed like, slowly, slowly he’d gotten a little life back in him,
but even his splashy associations with stunning women hadn’t made him look
carefree. It was obvious that he still revered Isabella and made her his ideal.

It was no wonder he’d never told Kiki he loved her. It
was unlikely that he did, all things considered. And she was no supermodel.
What could a man who had his pick among the most exquisite and wealthy want to
do with Kiki Mackenzie? The question just kept rattling around in her brain.

“I don’t understand you, Jim.”

He tilted her chin up so that she had to look into his
eyes. Their blue was mesmerizing. “Don’t you like being my special girl?”

She pressed her cheek against his warm palm and
sighed. “I’m a clumsy, ugly, bag lady in comparison to those women.”

“Stop it, Kiki. You’re none of those things. I don’t
like to hear you talk about yourself like that.”

She loved him for saying that, but her love wasn’t
enough. She just wasn’t in his league. The sooner he figured that out, the
better it would be for him. As she closed her eyes and rested her face in his
hand, she imagined him with Monica and knew, without a single doubt, that he’d
never be truly satisfied with a woman like herself. Kiki was only doing them
both a disservice by clinging.

“But it’s true!”

“One more word like that and I’m going to take you
over my knee.”

“That just proves my point. I can’t do one damn thing
right!”

Grooves formed alongside his mouth. “Enough!” He
picked her up in his arms and took her over to the bed, tossing her into the
middle where she landed in a sprawling heap of arms and legs. Her little slip
rode up and exposed her polka-dot panties. “Hands and knees, Kiki.”

She struggled up and began to scramble off the far
side of the bed. “No!”

“If you don’t do what you’re told, and I have to come
and get you, I promise you, it’ll be much worse.” His frown was mighty.
Clearly, he wasn’t issuing an empty threat.

Kiki stayed put but didn’t take the spanking position.
“Just accept the facts, Jim. Once I take that job, the pity fucks will have to
stop and you’ll move on to someone more appropriate.”

“Pity fucks!” He stared at her darkly, then reached
into his pocket and took out the oversized handkerchief he usually carried
there.

Kiki eyed him warily. “What are you doing?”

“Close your eyes.”

It was tempting to say no, but, hesitantly, she
complied. What the hell was he doing by taking her sense of sight away? She
felt his weight on the bed and then his hands on her face. He tied something
around her eyes—the handkerchief. “There,” he said with finality as he
checked the blindfold for a proper, safe fit.

“I don’t like this.”

“Tough. Get up on your hands and knees.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Spank you. I already told you I was going to do
that.”

“But I can’t see anything!”

“Exactly.”

“Jim…”

“Do I have to wrestle you into the position?”

“I…”

 
“I won’t
tell you again, Kiki.” His voice was controlled. He’d made his mind up. “Hands
and knees.”

Now, you’ve done it, Kiki. Backing down seemed like
the smartest option. Tears already wetting the blindfold, Kiki took the
spanking position and sobbed into the comforter.

The bed wobbled as Jim moved. A weight was lifted and
she could hear him walking away. She waited, crying, for a minute and then the
bed wobbled again as he climbed back on.

There was a loud slapping sound and she jumped. It
didn’t sound like his belt; that had a more hollow sound. And, since this was a
punishment spanking, he wouldn’t use his hand. He peeled down her panties and
raised her slip up to her waist. The anticipation and mystery were awful.

“You have to stop denigrating yourself, Kiki.” The air
whooshed just before something connected with her butt. Hard. The burn was
immediate and she whimpered. He spanked her several more times. Each time, the
fire on her ass flamed and wasn’t allowed to recede before the next wallop.

She sobbed louder, hoping he would relent, but he
didn’t. The whacks sent tremors of pain through her torso. Despite the sting
and humiliation, she felt her body begin to wear its welcome frock—wet
pussy, swollen clit, hard nipples.

“Kiki, you’re a beautiful, fun, intelligent woman. A
very worthwhile woman.” He smacked her along her thighs and sit spots and she
cringed and wriggled. “I like you the way you are! If I went for some airhead,
stick-figured, gold-digger, I’d deserve what I got.”

“Please, Jim.” Her voice cracked. “I won’t be so
stupid again!” He’d never touch her where she needed it; punishment was not
supposed to be fun. Maybe if she held her legs really tightly together there’d
be enough friction. She squeezed her thighs and her clit sparked.

The paddle—whatever it was—struck again.
“You don’t seem to get it! You’re not stupid. You’re stubborn and sometimes
undisciplined, but you’re not stupid or ugly or any of that nonsense!”

There was a pause in the action and he put a hand on
her inner thigh. “What are you doing? Spread your thighs, Kiki.” He tugged her
legs apart and she felt his hand sliding in the wetness that had accumulated
there. “God, Kiki,” he said, his voice gravelly. “If you only knew what you do
to me.”

She could smell her own arousal and felt shame for
making Jim suffer for her bad behavior. She knew putting herself down aloud
just reinforced her internal feelings of inadequacy. But that was an
intellectual understanding, not an emotional one. Jim was right.

She needed to feel him inside her and she wouldn’t get
that. That was perhaps the worst part of the punishment.

“I’m sorry. So sorry.”

“Don’t you see that by denigrating yourself, you’re
also putting me down? You’re saying that I have no taste in women. That the
person whom I’m most attached to is beneath me.”

Oh God, have I done that? Jim didn’t deserve that. She
didn’t think that about him. “I didn’t mean it that way, Jim. Please, please
forgive me.”

He stopped paddling her. Her fanny ached and burned
and itched. The handkerchief around her eyes was soaked with tears.

Emotionally, she was drained. She felt his hand move
over her raw butt. It hurt, but at the same time, it was reassuring,
affectionate. Her pussy throbbed. Shut up, bitch!

“I’m so sorry, Jim,” she croaked.

She felt his hands on her face and the blindfold came
off. Kiki blinked a few times and turned her head to look at him. He looked
glum, his lips compressed. “I know you’re sorry, baby. I wish it didn’t take
sessions like this to get things into your head.”

His razor strop lay near his hand. “You spanked me
with the strop?”

He nodded.

“Can I get up now?”

Jim gathered her up in his arms, carefully removing
her panties, and pulling her slip over her head. Naked, she cuddled into his
bare chest. Her butt protested, but the worst was over and she found she could
ignore it…mostly.