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Emma could only half-listen to the swirl of conversation around her; not even caring if it involved her, containing some praise or secret slight towards her person. All she could think about was how aroused she was and the attractive qualities of Mr. Ned. Emma could dominate him, she knew. He wouldn’t give her any of the trouble Scott had. He would be grateful to submit to her, as any man should be.

The ride she’d taken on horseback had left her more turned on than ever. Her thighs tingled with the memory: the feel of hard leather between her legs, jogging with the strapping muscles of the horse she straddled. It’d brought into sharp relief all the feelings her pussy was capable of. Now all she could think about was dropping on her back, spreading her legs, and feeling Ned buck and gallop over her until she’d gotten every last jot of pleasure out of her lust.

Still sneaking inquisitive glances at his crotch, Emma suddenly became aware that everyone was looking at her, waiting for her to respond to something. She looked around frantically, wondering what it was that had been said to her.

“Can’t shake off the city just yet, huh?” Kitty, her personal assistant, said for her. “You all know how hard-working Miss Frost is. She’ll probably need a few more hours to stop turning everything over in her head, just to be sure she hasn’t missed anything.”

“Yes,” Emma said, not blushing, but feeling the red heat of the emotion inside her skin. “With Sebastian… leaving… I have a lot of affairs to attend to. What was that you said?”

“Nothing much,” Ned laughed. “If it can wait five minutes, it can keep waiting.”

They laughed. Emma grinded her teeth. Normally, she’d find it easy to keep on the mask—appearing casual, easy-going—but with Scott, the familiarity that she pretended to had been visited on her for real. It made it galling, like they were all repeating his mastery of her. She considered shutting off all their minds for a few minutes. Let them realize they’d not only spaced out, but lost control of all bodily functions as well…

Kitty looked into Emma’s eyes. “He’s right. It isn’t that important. You should keep your mind on more pressing matters.” And she glanced at Ned’s groin.

Emma looked at Kitty, pressing into her mind to see what she was thinking. It came as no surprise; her assistant in every aspect of life… Do you want him? Or should I take him for you? I can play with him for you to watch or just get him ready for you. Of course, you can always tie me up while you have him. I promise I won’t slip loose. Not even if you gag me. Not even if you blindfold me, so all I can hear is how much you like him fucking you…

After her first day of abstinence since junior high, Emma was shocked and pleased to find Kitty still her willing sex slave. Not even that. Slaves could get free. Kitty was a toy, an addict—Emma’s satisfaction with her was Kitty’s favorite thrill. The girl’s eyes raked over Emma’s luscious book, vacant of everything but desire. Emma caught her breath sharply, delighted with how much Kitty wanted to fuck her. She might lust after Ned, but he would lust after her too. They’d be equals in that regard. But Kitty… much as she liked the bitch, Emma could take or leave her fucking. Kitty would always want her more than she was wanted; that was a turn-on all by itself.

“And now Kitty’s helping her space out,” Drew said. “It’s still days before you’re in charge of the business. Take an hour and go swimming down in the pond.”

“That’s what you wanted to ask me about? Kitty, did you pack my bathing suit?”

Kitty stepped toward her and squeezed her shoulder. “No, but it is your property, after all. And we’re all friends here.”

Emma felt the devotion in Kitty, keening to get out. It shot through her own body and made her sex clench. It would be no trouble at all to dominate Kitty—she was properly broken in, the way Scott someday would be.

“You will, of course, all be able to tend to your tasks… knowing I’m in the pond skinny-dipping?”

Ned flashed her a warming look—all he needed to do to let her know that he wouldn’t totally ignore her on her swim. Emma bit her lip. No sex, Scott had said. No masturbation, even. But she could still dream.

Hell, she didn’t even know if she could stop herself…

***

Scouring her half-naked body with her beach towel, Emma let out a long, dismayed grumble. One day at the Crossbar and her frustration had only compounded. She’d lost her gold earring—she couldn’t even look like she was all-composed.

It had all started when Ned had cornered her on the way to the pond. It made her feel a little better to blame him for some of her misfortune. If he hadn’t embraced her, holding her to him in a long, lingering kiss, her flesh wouldn’t have been burning so bad that even the coolest water couldn’t put her out.

Shit, the way he’d kissed her, running his hands over her breasts in such a familiar way that she should have been apoplectic at his nerve, but he knew her too well. She’d simply liked it. It, and how he rubbed his bulging erection hard against her own swollen mound.

She hadn’t given in—that would just be trading Scott for Ned. There was always a man out to control her. But Emma had been controlled. By her body, if nothing else.

She’d ended up in the pond, standing on tip-toe on a buried log while her hands slipped down, underneath the insubstantial sprawl of her bikini bottoms, trying to resolve what Ned had done to her.

Then someone jumped into the pool. Emma thought it was Ned, but her dismissal on the way over had successfully deterred him. This was Drew.

He’d normally be a good person to share a body of water with—anything from a pool to a bathtub. (Her 14-karat earring was probably sharing in it too, at the bottom of the pond somewhere.) He was sexy… tall and good-looking… not creepy, not domineering, like Scott had been. And the way he looked at her… Emma knew he was dating someone else. If only she knew what his eyes did to someone else. That erstwhile girlfriend certainly wouldn’t have left Drew with the massive cock he had to offer her…

She hadn’t even begun to center herself after Ned’s groping of her. Drew’s obscene pass at her, swimming up to her barely clothed body with his own naked, fluttering against her, kissing her… Emma had almost bitten into his tongue, wanting more of it, all of it, hers forever whether he wanted her to have it or not. But the warning bells of strategy and tactics rang even louder than they had with Ned. She sent him on his way, her unmanageable lust even more thrillingly taboo when he climbed out of the water, dripping from every inch. He left her with her cunt thrumming excitedly, her splayed folds itching to be scratched from her lips to the depths of her womb. Her fingers could never satisfy that pang inside…

But she needed to try. Even more worried about Scott’s spying, she’d swam over to the deepest part of the ponds, where the fronds of a weeping widow leaned down into the water and hid even her head and shoulders from view. There, Emma had resolved to free herself of that panging tingle. She’d held onto one of the tree’s branches and opened her legs wide and reached underneath the snug elastic band of her bottoms to cup her wildly heating cunt in her hand. She rubbed at it, stroking her engorged lips with the slick coolness of the water, making a whirlwind at her groin to match the roiling within her. It didn’t help. She couldn’t make herself come. Not relaxed enough. She tried to fantasize… ended up reaching for the thought of Scott, nude and hard and using the sight of her so rapaciously, like there was nothing to her nakedness that she could feed his gaze that could ever be rejected.

Favoring Scott with her imaginings was too much. It ruined the mood for good. She clambered out of the pond, dripping and even colder than the night air on her bare body warranted, to realize one of her earrings was gone.

Emma couldn’t bear to go back and look for it. She dressed and went back inside. Maybe being alone, with no one to disturb her privacy, would cool her down enough to maintain the chasteness Scott had ordered of her.

Had he, or one of his agents, seen what she’d done to herself in the pond? Almost done?

Speculation was futile. It only added to her disgruntlement. She couldn’t let Scott win—couldn’t let him make her miserable enough that she actually looked forward to their next sparring match!

***

The itch began in the cradle of her rectum and wiled its way into her until it was right at her clit, stiff and beady, needing to be touched. Emma recognized a desperate need she hadn’t felt since her days as a stripper. Withholding sex because the denial gave her power, when all she wanted was to give in. She’d had to make them want her more than she’d wanted them—the feeling was delicious, but agonizing.

It was time… yes… Emma couldn’t resist any longer. She closed her eyes, wondering if she was even capable of putting this off anymore. But the demand was too alluring for her to marshal any strength against it. Her need flared in her mind, warming her body while also reminding her of how cold she was. She had to have heat.

Emma squirmed in her lonely bed and tried to insist, against all whispering thoughts to the contrary, that she was in control, she was supreme, she could go without food or water or sex indefinitely. Such was the power of her will.

But her passions were even more powerful. She was a lustful woman. She always had been. Always would be. She’d never turned her own passion on herself before. It might’ve been an immovable object versus an unstoppable force… but the force proved slightly more unstoppable.

She turned over in bed and opened up her night table, reaching a slender hand inside for the manuscript she kept there. Many men were obsessed with her. One, an actual best-selling author, had gone so far as to write a romance all about her. It was tragically off-base, of course… she couldn’t expect a man to grasp the least of her subtleties… but it was well-written and all the loving descriptions of her body appealed to her ego. She’d actually wound up enacting some of that hapless author’s written fantasies; Emma wondered if he’d approve, or if he’d prefer she actually let him publish some sophistry.

But in lieu of setting the book aside and finding some willing something to act out its ridiculousness with, she decided to let the written word alone serve her needs.

Emma glanced nervously at the clock, as though Sebastian might return at any moment. Silly, of course. It was the fourth night in a row of him preparing for his stay in prison with a well-paid consultant, toughening him up so he wouldn’t crack in the big house.

Useless sophistry, to Emma’s eyes. If you were strong enough to survive in the cutthroat world of wealth and power, you should be able to handle prison simply enough. If it were Emma, she’d be enjoying every last moment of privilege before the trial began—not running and hiding from it in useless, neurosis-stroking preparation. But it wasn’t the first time Sebastian had proved disappointing.

She stretched her slender legs under the covers, feeling her way to cooler sheets where her feet hadn’t touched. Emma felt too warm. Even though her nightgown was so skimpy it was barely there, translucent fabric clinging to her curves like she’d been doused in milk, it felt like a warm, sodden coat with her nervous sweat impregnating it.

She fluffed her pillows, propped them behind her shoulders, and brushed her golden hair away from her eyes. Then she opened the taboo book to wherever its pages would take her.