Pushing Her Buttons Sabrina York
Every single day, he’s there. Waiting. Watching her. Closed in with her for a hund red stories as they ride the elevator to their floor. And every single day, for a hundred floors, Samantha simmers with banked lust. She wants him—her mysterious neighbor who seems to get off on tempting her. Whose eyes promise the kind of ki nky domination she’s too afraid to give in to. And then just when she thinks she’s s afe, just when she’s convinced she can resist his allure, he steps up his relentle ss pursuit. The passion that flares between them burns so hot and so bright it c ould consume them both. But that’s just on the way up. Who knows what will happen when they’re going down.
Pushing Her Buttons Sabrina York
Dedication
For Carmen Cook, who inspires me to be naughtier.
Acknowledgments
In 2011, I entered this story in the Celtic Hearts Novellas Need Love, Too! cont est. It won first place in the erotica category and was selected for the 2011 Di stinguished Novella Award. I would like to thank the coordinators and first-roun d judges of that lovely contest as well as the final judges, Kelli Collins and H eather Osborne—who, I might add, have excellent taste. Thanks also to Carrie Jacks on for embracing this novella and helping make it the best it can be.
I so appreciate Cerise DeLand, Melissa Schroeder, Delilah Devlin and Scarlett Sa nderson, who continue to encourage and support my career. And of course, a heart felt thanks to all my friends at the Greater Seattle RWA, Rose City Romance Writ ers, Passionate Ink and the Pacific Northwest Writers Association. And a big sho ut out to the wonderful folks at Artitudes Design, who made my website sparkle. Literally. It sparkles.
Chapter One Wednesday
I almost got off the elevator when he stepped on, that slick sophisticated creat ure oozing with masculinity, the man who haunted my dreams. He could turn me int o a bundle of jangled, weeping nerves with a look.
So I didn’t look. This took some effort.
I wanted to, was drawn to the energy, the intensity, the heat rolling off him in waves. Instead I diligently studied the sleek chrome of the elevator doors as t hey slid silently shut.
We were alone, together, in a box. Again. For a hundred floors.
“Going up?” His voice was a slithering snake, raspy, undulating and smooth. I nodded. A short, curt dip of my head.
From the corner of my eye, I watched as he pressed the button for our floor. His thumb was long and blunt. He did it slowly, caressing the face. As though makin g a promise.
And all the while, he stared at me. Tracking my every reaction. Taking in the ri se of my breast, the quick dash of my tongue on suddenly dry lips, the quiver of a lash.
This unrelenting attention made my skin prickle, my nipples swell.
I riffled in my purse for a stick of gum. There was no gum but I riffled anyway. Honestly. How long could an elevator ride last? I focused on the lights of the h eader, ignoring his presence. Desperately trying to, at least, as his searing ga ze lingered and stroked.
I was managing quite well, thank you very much. Until he did it.
He made a noise I couldn’t ignore. It was something feral, between a grunt and a m oan. A sound a lion might make, unconsciously, distractedly, upon sighting a par ticularly juicy gazelle. Or a female in heat.
I was not a female in heat.
More than one man had commented on my frigidity. The idiots. My coolness was mer ely a reflection of their ineptitude.
This man was probably not inept. A frightening truth for someone like me.
The sound, the growl, the urgent hungry groan, washed through me in a vibrating bass.
I punched the button for our floor several times in succession. It was a tell an d I knew it, but I couldn’t help myself. Panic rose in my throat as the heat he se nt off swirled around me, sank in and settled in my belly.
His interest in me had never been a secret. He’d tried flirting and sweet talk, he’d asked me out more than once but I always shot him down. I knew what kind of man he was. He had that vibe, that look, that alluring menace.
I knew what he was, for God’s sake. I could smell it, feel it, taste it. I’d been th ere before and sworn I’d never go there again.
Any woman with a pulse would think him attractive, what with that sable hair flo pping onto his forehead, that square dented chin, that boyish insouciance belied by a satyr’s smirk. And, ah. Those deep-brown eyes ringed with sinful sooty lashe s. Those exquisitely molded lips. That hard athlete’s physique.
But not every woman would notice the simmering passion, the sultry sadism that c alled to a woman like me. Telegraphed in secret code. Tapping. Tapping on my ner ves.
I did not want a man like that. Not anymore. A man like that would eat me alive. Against my will, I caught a glimpse of his chiseled reflection in the chrome. He’d opened his suit jacket and tucked his fingers into the front pockets of his sla cks. He leaned like a lazy panther against the mirrored wall and tipped his head back, studying the ceiling. His long legs were crossed at the ankles, showcasin g immaculate Ferragamos gleaming with a high gloss. A crooked grin tugged at his luscious lips.
Mercy. Those lips.
Heat sizzled through me as I imagined those lips on me, sucking, nuzzling, nippi ng.
But that would never happen. He was not my type and I was not his. I wasn’t. I told myself to look away but I didn’t do it quickly enough.
He straightened as we neared our floor. Adjusted his jacket. Shook out his pants . Raked his thick dark curls…
Horrified by this wash of vulnerability, I turned my head. Our eyes locked again but this time directly, intimately, across the car. Tangled, tied.
His body stiffened, nostrils flared, pupils dilated. He leaned slightly, almost imperceptibly, toward me. His scent, his aura intensified. He held me immobile b y the sheer power of his intent.
And then he licked his lips.
Something within me liquefied. My knees went weak and I nearly dropped my briefc ase. Who knows what would have happed, what could have happened, if the elevator hadn’t opened at just that moment?
The welcome ding snapped me out of this lazy, hazy daze. I clutched my briefcase to my chest and rushed through the doors almost before they were open, doing a determined power walk to my penthouse.
He followed, slowly stalking. I didn’t hesitate. I waved my keycard over the lock and slipped inside. To safety.
I tried not to look back. Really. I did. It was only a quick glance but the sigh t of him standing next to his double-doored entrance, pinning me with a heavy-li dded gaze, rocketed through me like a fist to my solar plexus. There was heat in his eyes. And hunger. And certainty.
I shut the door, shutting him out. Shutting it out. He wasn’t my type. I wasn’t his. A man like that could destroy the woman I was, melt the mask I had worked so har d to forge. I refused to think about him. I refused to want him.
I didn’t sleep all night.
Friday
He lounged, as he always did for our interminable ride, against the mirrored wal l. He crossed one leg over the other and looped his arms over his chest. He surv eyed my date—a long, lazy inspection. When he completed his appraisal, taking note of everything from the weak chin to the slightly scuffed loafers, he glanced at me, a grin tweaking his sinful lips.
And then he lifted a mocking brow as though to say, “Really?”
I turned to my date, Roger—or whatever his name was—and tugged on his tie. Surprised , bemused, he bent his head. I kissed his ass off.
I was still kissing him when the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. I kept kissing him, hoping my neighbor would take the hint and leave us in lip-locking peace.
I hoped in vain.
When I surfaced from the long, lingering kiss, which had been rather like lickin g a large-mouth bass, he was still there, propping the door open with an immacul ately clad foot and watching with an amused expression.
“After you,” he said in a deep voice that sent rivulets of delight dancing to my cun t.
His words, as all his actions, seemed to carry weight, like they staggered under multiple meanings. After you were hardly bedroom words but he said them like th at, filling my mind with visions of a couple—who looked remarkably like us—tangled i n silken sheets.
“Come, come!” she cries in desperation. “Ah,” he murmurs, “after you.”
Huffing in disgust, I collected my prop—whatever his name was—and stormed to my pent house. Waving my key a little more frantically than I needed to, I pushed throug h the door and dragged my date into the living room.
I didn’t want him there, sitting on my white leather couches or drinking my Crista l from my crystal, but he had to stay for a while. My neighbor might still be lu rking in the hall. I couldn’t face the humiliation of his mocking smile.
So I let what’s-his-name stay. I let him kiss me and fondle me and drizzle me with sticky adoration. I let him fuck me. And I tried not to think about how it move d me less than a murmured, impersonal, “After you.”
The Next Friday
r. Preparing for the merger helped immensely. Our company had just been gobbled up by a multinational owned by a reclusive billionaire—the usual drill. This guy h ad a history of taking jobs in the mailroom or the parking garage of companies h e wanted to acquire to make sure it was a good deal. He got away with it because he guarded his privacy so jealously that very few people actually knew what he looked like.
Preparing for the merger meant long tedious meetings and interminable days fille d with paperwork and positioning. It meant adjusting my schedule and working lat e. Going in early. It meant avoiding him on the elevator. So I embraced it. And it worked. For a while. About a week. But then suddenly he found me again. I was returning from a grueling day in the salt mines. My dogs were barking in m y Jimmy Choos, my back hurt from sitting in meetings all day long and I was beat . What I really wanted was a glass of wine and a hot, hot bath.
The last thing I wanted to deal with was him for a hundred floors. But this time it was worse.
This time he had a floozy with him.
“Floozy” being the term I use for a woman wearing too much makeup and too little clo thing.
Of course, the undulating didn’t help deter the stereotype.
I would never have stepped on the elevator if I’d seen them. In fact, I’d taken to p eering around the corner like a timid little mouse to make sure the coast was cl ear.
And it had been. With a sigh of relief, I’d stepped into the elevator and pushed t he button for my floor. But just as the doors started to slide shut, a large han d stopped them. His hand.
I bit my lip to hold back a curse.
Where the hell had he come from? Where the hell had they come from?
He held open the door and ushered his floozy inside. I ignored them both. I igno red the annoying lurch in my belly as well. I didn’t care that he had a floozy. I didn’t. He was not my type.
It was like a mantra in my head. I hoped if I repeated it often enough, I would come to believe it.
As the elevator silently shushed its way up to the exclusive suites in the ether , I stared at the chrome, at the vague reflection of their bodies twining.
I tapped my toe and glared at the lights—moving, as they were, all too slowly. He kissed her neck. An annoying sucking noise made me inadvertently glance in th eir direction. And immediately wish I hadn’t.
He buried his nose deeper and she rubbed against him like a cat. Forcing my attention away, I glared at their reflections instead.
And then my heart stuttered, my lungs seized. Because in that distorted image, h is hand skated up her torso like a heat-seeking missile. He cupped her breast as casually as if he were cupping her elbow. Circled her nipple. Pinched. She sobb ed and rubbed her legs together.
He chuckled and whispered something into her ear. She froze. Shuddered. I wasn’t watching.
I didn’t want to watch.
I certainly didn’t notice from the corner of my eye that his other hand had drifte d down her back, over her silk-clad buttocks to her bare thighs.
I didn’t notice him drifting up again, under her short skirt and into darkness. I didn’t. I refused to acknowledge a sudden scalding vision.
His fingers. On my slit. But my body wept.
She didn’t squeal when he touched her, when he did whatever it was he was doing do wn there. But only because her lips were pressed together so tight they were whi te. Her nostrils flared. Her nipples pebbled. Her knees trembled.
He held her up. With his fingers. Wherever they were.
He worked at her, coaxing moans and mewls.
And while he worked at her, he watched me not watching him in the chrome.
m my lips to dampen my inner thighs. The pulse, the hard, fast, insistent pulse between my legs was not because I was imagining him doing secret furtive things to me.
Dear God. Please end this torture.
I nearly collapsed with relief when the elevator dinged.
Somehow—I really cannot fathom how—he got to the door before me and blocked the way. He glanced at me, making sure our eye contact was definitive. His expression we nt firm, determined. I thought I saw a flash, a brief hint of uncertainty, of he sitation, but surely I was mistaken. Whatever it had been, it quickly firmed to resolve.
And then he made an abrupt gesture to his companion.
She paled. Her lashes flickered as she glanced at me and then back at him. He di dn’t make the gesture, the command, again. He merely raised a brow.
With a whimper, she slowly rolled up her skirt, exposing her cunt, her ass. Righ t there. In front of me. She wore nothing beneath that dress, most likely at his command.
“Good girl,” he said but his focus was fixed on me. “Good girl.” He led her then toward his apartment; she followed him like an obedient hound.
I was still standing in the elevator, swallowing the pool of drool in my mouth, when they reached his door. He waved his key and the door opened. As she entered his apartment, passed him at the portal, he palmed her ass. She quivered at his touch. Her arousal was palpable, even from a distance.
And then, staring at me like a hawk, he smacked that bare bottom and smacked it hard. The sound of the slap echoed in the empty hallway, winding through her cry . A shock wave snarled through my belly and I flinched. A glob of cream eased ou t against my will. I closed my legs on it.
His eyes, still trained on me, flared with satisfaction. As though he had uncovered a pleasant truth.
I was still on the elevator when the doors slid shut.
Oh yes. I knew what kind of man he was and if I let him, he would destroy the ma sk I’d so carefully constructed.
So I wouldn’t let him. I couldn’t.
Chapter Two Saturday
I began to suspect he was stalking me. That he had some devious method to divine my every movement. For the very next day, when I stepped on the elevator, he wa s right behind me. With her.
He hadn’t been in the lobby when I’d entered. But when I stepped into the elevator, he managed to step in right behind me. As if he’d been waiting.
He fondled his floozy’s silk-clad hip and smiled at me. It wasn’t a pleasant smile. It set up a riot in my belly.
I dropped my gaze, of course. It was becoming a habit. And it annoyed me because nowhere else, in any other aspect of my life, would I flinch from ugly reality. I faced things head-on now. I took pride in that fact. My weakness here, with h im, spoke volumes. And I didn’t want to hear what it said.
So I forced myself to tip up my chin and look straight at them, goring him with my determination, daring him to give it his best.
And he did.
This time, this trip, he didn’t bother with subtleties. As soon as the elevator do ors slid shut, he pulled his woman against him so they both faced me. Horror and fascination skirled in my gut as his large hand slid to the bottom of her short dress and then back, dragging the hem up.
She wasn’t wearing any underwear, so quite quickly she was exposed. He whispered i nto her ear. She leaned back against him, slowly moving her legs apart. She was
wearing spindly heels, the kind that makes women all helpless and wobbly, like n ewborn fawns. When she teetered, unbalanced, his hold on her, the arm across her belly, tightened.
He fondled her.
I stared, drool pooling, as he dandled her exposed vulva. He rubbed her with fou r fingers, opening her and revealing her clit, which he squeezed between thumb a nd forefinger. When she moaned, his response was swift and sharp. A resonating s lap. Definitively placed.
“Hush,” he murmured. But for her heaving bosom, she stilled. “Do you like this?” he aske d, a dark rumble. His searing gaze was locked on me. I knew he wasn’t talking to h
er.
My eyes flicked to his. I didn’t answer.
“Do you?” He smacked her again and again. With each slap, she twisted and squirmed. Her teeth tugged at her lush lower lip in the struggle to remain silent. “You shou ld answer me when I ask you a question.”
He spread her legs wider still with his feet, nudging her to greater and greater peril. He rubbed her again and clasped her clit in a tight pinch. “She suffers, y ou see, when you don’t cooperate.”
He twisted gently and a fat dab of cream oozed from her cunt, dangling there. God, I thought with a shudder. She liked this. She loved being humiliated in fro nt of a complete stranger, tantalized and teased. The cunt.
Suddenly irritated beyond belief, I turned away. He laughed.
“Yes,” he hissed in that deep, hypnotic voice. “I think you like this. I think you lik e this a lot.”
He did something to her, that writhing woman in his arms—what it was remained a my stery because I had squeezed my eyes shut. She mewled like a feral cat.
“You like witnessing her punishment. Does it make your clit twitch to know I’m punis hing her for you?” He chuckled again, probably because I’d squeezed my eyes shut eve n tighter. “Yes. I can see it does.” I heard a rustle of movement and then he was cl ose, whispering hotly in my ear. “I can smell your arousal. Smell the honey drippi ng down your thighs.”
My eyes flew open. He was so close I could make out each lash. The dark rings ar ound his golden irises were mesmerizing. His hot fragrant breath bathed my cheek .
“You hunger for this.” His fingertip—one single fingertip—circled my nipple. It ruched a nd pebbled. “You want to be punished in her place.” His nostrils flared and he leane d closer. “Come with us tonight. Come with us and I’ll let you hold the strap.” A memory, buried deep, bubbled to the surface. The memory of a hot commanding ma n, a strap, my ass on fire and lashes of ecstasy. It nearly brought me to my kne es.
But then the elevator dinged and I snapped out of the trance. Recalled myself. I’d left that life. I’d left it for a reason.
It always began with passion and play but before long it devolved. Before long, he would slip dark degradation into the scene. Before long, the pain would becom e too emotional, too real.
I edged around the temptation and slipped into the hall. “I-I can’t.” Goddamn it. Agai n, I was lowering my gaze. It took nearly everything in me but I forced myself t
o look at him. I repeated my vow with conviction. “I can’t.”
A flash of disappointment washed over his expression but it quickly morphed into grim determination. “Pity.”
He took her hand, that woman who could, that woman who would, and tugged her aft er him, out of the elevator toward his penthouse. She teetered on her stiletto h eels, holding on to him for balance.
I trailed along behind like a forlorn pup, wreathed in regret. I’d had to rip ever y vestige of passion from my life just to feel safe. And sometimes I hated it. M y life. Empty as it was.
He stopped at his doors and speared me with a sharp look. “Think about this tonigh t, as you relax in the luxury of your loneliness. Think about what’s happening jus t across the hall and how it could’ve been yours.”
Ignored how it trembled. The doors clicked open and, posthaste, I slipped insid e. To hide.
His voice followed me. “Think about your punishment. And how much she will enjoy i t in your stead.”
As the doors closed on him—on them—I nearly collapsed in relief. At least I thought it was relief. Of course it was.
I did enjoy the luxury of my loneliness. Hell, I’d earned it. Paid for it with the price of my first—and only—marriage. And perhaps a chunk of my soul. I damn well sh ould enjoy it.
But as much as I tried not to, I did think about him. And I thought about her. A nd the punishment that should have been mine, if only I’d had the courage—or the stu pidity—to accept it.
Sunday
For once, I didn’t spend the day at work. I forced myself to get out. Socialize. I had lunch with a couple friends and we took in an afternoon movie. Although, I haven’t a clue what it was about. Throughout the day, I kept drifting off into dar k fantasies and darker ruminations.
When I returned home, he was waiting. We stepped on the elevator together.
Flicking my pashmina over my shoulder to illustrate my indifference, I glanced a t him. He was mouthwateringly handsome in a cable-knit sweater and tan khaki pan ts. He tucked his fingers into his pockets and lounged against the wall of the e levator.
“Where’s your friend?” I asked. I tried not to sound snide. I don’t think I succeeded. “Lola?”
Something prickled at my nape. “Is that her name?” He shrugged. “Does it matter?”
Unaccountably annoyed, I glared at him. Really. A man had no business being this attractive. “Where is she?”
He nodded upward, indicating his penthouse. “I told you she’d be punished.” “But…” My breath caught. “That was yesterday!”
His gaze, suddenly serious, suddenly still, raked me. “She’ll be punished until you release her.”
“What?”
“Do you want to know what I did to her?” “No.” A whisper.
He ignored me. “I tied her to the bed. Eased a butt plug into her pucker and a vib rator into her cunt. I had to tie it in because it kept shooting out—she’s that wet.” He grinned and winked, as though we were having a casual, everyday conversation
about something completely ordinary and mundane. Like laundry. “It’s a great little vibrator with some very interesting settings. My favorite is particularly deviou s. Whenever she squeezes, it shuts off.” He leaned closer. Caged me. “Do you know wh at that means?”
I swallowed. “No.”
His tongue flicked out and dabbed at his lips. “It means she can’t come. She’s been ly ing up there all afternoon. Tied spread-eagle, in agony.” I flinched. His eyes nar rowed. “Ah, you like to be tied spread-eagle, don’t you? To be utterly helpless. To thrash against your bonds. To be completely unable to touch yourself. Coming clo ser and closer to that ultimate release. And then, just when you get there, just
when you can feel it coming…oops. The damn thing switches off.” He tsked. “You can im agine how frustrated she is by now.”
“Why are you telling me this?” “Don’t you know?”
I shook my head. Tried to quiet the whispering wraiths scudding through my soul. Because somewhere deep inside, I did know.
He teased my neck then let his palm trail over my chest. He found my jutting nip
ple—of course he did—and scraped it with a fingernail. “I’m telling you because the only way she’s ever going to find release is if you make her come.”
He was drawing a web around me. I could feel it tightening. The old hunger bubbl ed and spat.
His touch agonized me. Because all he did was stroke, oh so gently. And God help me, I wanted, needed more.
But I knew better than to ask.
“It won’t take much, my pet. Not at this point. A touch. Maybe a nibble or a suck. Y ou can bring her torment to an end.” He caressed my thigh and my heart froze mid-b eat. His long warm fingers slid over and up, just to the right. He found my cent er. Pressed.
Delight skittered along every nerve. I gasped, quivered, creamed. “I-I’m not going t o m-make your girlfriend come.” Was my voice really that wobbly? That weak?
“Who said she’s my girlfriend?” He delved deeper, rubbed the crease in my slacks. Everything within me clenched. Still, I found the strength to step away. He foll owed.
“I-I’m not going to do it.”
“Of course you will.” Oh dear. Had he opened the hook at my waist? Had he eased the zipper down? Were those his fingers sliding into the shadows between my legs? “You have to play by the rules.”
I commanded my legs to move, to walk away. They did not. “W-who said I wanted to p lay? I don’t. I don’t want to play.”
“Yes,” he murmured, hot into my ear. “Yes, you do. Look at you. How aroused you are. D o you think I can’t tell?”
Ah. A touch. Skin against skin. He nudged my swollen clit. Teasingly, he made a deeper pass, reveling in the flood of arousal he found.
“Come on. End it for her. You want to.” “I’m not attracted to w-women.”
He laughed. “I know, sweetheart.” His fingers, three of them, slipped through the sl ick soup and eased, as one, into my weeping cunt. A slow, steady slide.
Good. It felt so good. He filled me and stroked me and stoked the fire until it burst into a flame I could not deny.
“You aren’t doing it for her.” His voice quavered a little as I tightened around him. “Y ou’ll do it for me. Because I want to watch.”
And so, God help me, I did it. When the elevator doors slid open, I went with hi m. He led me like a child through the double doors of his penthouse and back int o his bedroom.
And there she was. On the bed. She was tied like he’d said, arms and legs held wid e and firmly pinned to the four posters. She wore a blindfold and earphones. A f at vibrator poked out of her pussy. It was strapped to a belt at her waist to ke ep it from popping out as she writhed. And she did. Writhe.
“She can’t hear us.” He stepped up behind me, cupped my breasts and thumbed my nipples . “She’s listening to the audio of one of her favorite fuck films. It keeps her hot.” She seized and cried out. The vibrator had just turned off.
“Ah. Poor thing.” He tugged at my pants. When they fell to the floor, I kicked them off. My panties followed.
He didn’t immediately fumble for my exposed pussy—as so many men might. Instead he r ubbed his broad palms over my belly and my thighs, teasing me until I pressed ba ck against him. His stony cock pulsed between my naked butt cheeks.
“She wants you to touch her,” he breathed into my hair. “Just like you ache for my tou ch, she aches for yours.”
“I can’t.” This, in a choked whisper.
“Yes. You can. Let me help you.” He took my hand and together we reached for her. I grazed her clit. It was engorged, slick.
She moaned, thrust up into the caress. “Please. Please let me come.” A trail of dry tears tracked her cheeks. She’d been begging for hours.
“Mmm.” His voice rumbled through me. “Do it again.” I did. This time without his coaching.
He murmured his approval. “It’s so fat.” He stroked my clit, even as I stroked hers. “So very juicy. Wouldn’t you like to lick it? Take it between your lips and suck it?”
I tossed my head back, reveling in his touch. He knew just how to rub me, how ha rd, how long.
But then he stopped. I wriggled in the desperate attempt to find him again. He d id not allow me to.
“Wouldn’t you?” he repeated, his tone harsh.
The rest of his question eluded me so I shook my head.
He smiled and stroked me again. The sensation was so strong I could barely stand . “Or would you rather rub against her like this? Make her come with the kiss of c lit to clit?”
I didn’t want to do this but I wanted to please him. It frightened me, just how mu ch I would do to please him, how quickly he had conquered me.
Trembling, aching, I got on the bed and straddled the bound girl. I placed my cl eft against hers and began to rub. She arched up into me with a cry of delight. The vibrator started back up with a faint throb, resonating through us both.
“Yes.” His palm was firm on my ass. With little effort, he guided my every motion. “Ma ke her come. Release her.”
I didn’t expect it but even as I ground against her, brought her closer to the pre cipice, my arousal heightened. The insistent drag of slick wet skin against slic k wet skin, the jarring drag of nub against nub, consumed me. My passion, my hea t, billowed, bloomed. And then just as my orgasm welled, just as ecstasy burst w ithin me, his fingers, thick and forceful, shoved into my cunt.
The fullness, his delirious thrusts, sent me over the edge and I came around him .
She came too, crying out and writhing and shuddering against me. That only heightened my pleasure.
I had released her. And he had released me.
I thought he would fuck me then. Fuck one of us. But he didn’t. Instead he helped me dress with gentle hands, walked me to the foyer and kissed me on the forehead .
“Will I see you tomorrow?” he asked.
I gaped at him. Surely there would be more than this. “But…” A muscle clenched in his cheek. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
A Gordian knot twined in my belly. “I suppose.” We did live next door to each other, after all.
His expression relaxed. He picked up a small package from the table by the door and handed it to me.
“What’s this?”
“A present for you. Wear it tomorrow.” “What is it?”
“Do you promise to wear it?”
My glare lacked conviction. “Yes.”
He smiled. “Don’t open this until the morning and then put it on right away. Don’t del ay, or I’ll know.”
“How could you?”
His smile tightened. “Not until morning, sweetheart. Promise?” And God help me, I did. I promised.
I sat up half the night staring at that damn package. Wondering.
Wondering what was in it, sure, but more than that. Wondering why he hadn’t taken advantage of my arousal. Why he hadn’t fucked me.
I’d been ready. Dribbling. Drooling for it. He could have demanded anything and I would have complied. I shivered at the thought, the implications of his hold ove r me.
But he hadn’t. He hadn’t taken the advantage he’d clearly won. Why not?
My heart stilled as a lowering prospect slithered through me. Had I read this wr ong? Had I only been a toy in their game?
An unbearable, humiliating thought given my savage, inconvenient craving for him . I did not want to share.
I had no business feeling such burning envy, such blinding jealousy. But I could n’t help myself from wondering…had he fucked her? Was he fucking her now?
The image flooded my mind and right on its tail, hot thrashing hunger. A gnawing ache.
More than anything, I yearned for a strong dominating man—I always had. But they’d n ever failed to disappoint me.
Was he different than my ex had been? Or worse?
As I curled up in my cold lonely bed, one question swirled in my mind. What torm ent would tomorrow hold?
Chapter Three Monday
Tomorrow, it seemed, held aggravation. And plenty of it.
I put off opening the box until after breakfast. I sat there for a long while, s ipping my coffee and glaring at the package sitting on the table like a two-head ed snake. It wasn’t that I was scared to open it. Well, maybe a little.
Turns out, that was a good instinct.
When I finally opened it and looked inside, I nearly closed it back up, stormed across the hall and threw it in his face. It was an elaborate kinky version of a G-string. A series of straps, really, attached to a long V-shaped piece of rubb er. The rubber was studded but the studs were random, of varying sizes and heigh ts, designed specifically to rub against my clit, to drive me mad with wanting. He wanted me to wear this? All day? I was furious. Then I saw the note.
Slowly, I opened it and scanned his bold, stocky script. And through my fury, my arousal began to bubble.
Wear this beneath your skirt, it said, and nothing else. I want to think of you walking around all day with your pussy exposed, your clit throbbing and your cun t lips parted and moist. I want you to remember how vulnerable you are. Remember how hot you are. I want you to think about it. All day. Think about it as you d ampen the leather of your chair in the boardroom. I want you to rock into it whi le others are droning over their boring presentations. And I want you to think o f me. Thinking of you. Wanting you. All day.
Okay. I was tempted. More than tempted. But—I’m sorry to say—the fear won out. I have never liked cowards and never liked the thread of cowardice in myself. But I wen
t through hell in my first marriage to a dominating man. Little games like this had been so hot then. But they’d turned ugly quick.
And this just didn’t feel right. So I didn’t put it on. I didn’t wear it. As much as a part of me wanted to, I couldn’t do it.
I spent all day thinking about him though, as he had so commanded. But probably not in the way he’d intended.
I thought about that woman and what we’d done. What he’d made me do. I thought about the fact that he hadn’t fucked me last night but she’d still been there when I left . That he’d probably fucked her and fucked her good. And it pissed me off.
He was a gorgeous man, the epitome of all my wet dreams rolled into flesh. And h e was attractive to me in so many other ways. But if I gave in to him, if I let myself fall for him and he kept seeing her—or any other woman—it would destroy me. It had happened before. It’d taken me years to find myself again.
My aggravation only heightened when the new owner of our company, Jackson Carter , stood us up for a meeting. And not just any meeting—our very first meeting, one my team and I had been working weeks to prepare for. None of them cared much. In their opinion it just delayed the death knell many were expecting. And they got donuts.
But I was livid.
My mood was so bad that when my secretary saw me coming toward her in the hall, she whirled around and headed the other direction.
Not my best day.
By the time I got home, I was ready for battle. Ready to tell him what I thought about him and his sleazy girlfriend and his tawdry games and his lurid G-string . He didn’t meet me in the elevator so I stormed over to his penthouse and pounded on the door.
He answered in gray flannel darkened with sweat. Oh crap. He’d been working out. T he scent of him, of hot hard man, wafted to my nostrils and my resolve nearly cr umbled. He was so fricking gorgeous. I wanted to lick him. But I was angry, I re minded myself.
The first words out of my mouth weren’t what I intended. “Where is she?”
He stood back and allowed me entrance. I blew through the living room and into t he bedroom. He followed, hands tucked into deep pockets. “Gone.”
I snarled, “Gone where?” “Away. She won’t be back.”
That gave me pause but I was still in a tizzy. An entire night fretting over thi s, an entire day fuming at him, had taken its toll on my sanity. Certainly on my patience.
“Did you fuck her last night?” Gads. I hated how I sounded. But I couldn’t help it. I was a woman possessed. By a nasty little green imp with sharp claws.
“No.”
I blinked. I had convinced myself he had. I’d convinced myself they’d spent the whol e night fucking and laughing about me. “Wh-why not?”
He stepped closer. His voice was soft, intent. His gaze held mine in a tender em brace. “Don’t you know?”
I shook my head, blinking at the tear stinging the corner of my eye.
He nudged a lock of hair behind my ear and smiled crookedly. “Because I didn’t want her. I wanted you.”
I stormed back into the living room, enraged. A fury fomented by hours of frustr ation. “You could have had me,” I hissed. “You sent me away.” God, how that rankled. “I had to.”
“What?”
“I had to send you away.” “Why?”
He walked toward the wall of windows with a magnificent city view. I watched in the reflection as he raked his fingers through his hair. “Because I had to.” “But…don’t you want me?” I cringed even as the words slipped out.
He spun around, nostrils flaring. “Jesus. Of course I want you.” He laughed, a craze d trickle. “Baby, you have no idea how bad I want you. But there’s something I want even more.”
At my quizzical glance, he grabbed my hips and pulled me closer. The ridge of hi s arousal nudged my belly. I fisted the soft cotton of his sweats. Oh, how I lov ed sweats on a man.
“I want our first time to be right. To be perfect. I don’t want someone else between us. I don’t want anyone else in the bed. I want your focus on me and mine on you. I want this to be right.”
My lips parted but no sound came out. A trill of excitement danced through my cu nt. How amazing it would be, if it could be. How wonderful. But I’d been burned. I was leery.
He must have seen that in my expression because he said, “We need to take this slo w. One step at a time. I want you to be comfortable. I want to go at your speed.” He swallowed a snort. “And if going slow drives us crazy then at least we’ll go ther e together. Okay?”
He was so close. So warm. So sincere. My resistance melted. I nodded. “Okay.” “All right.” He grinned and blew out a breath. “Are you ready?”
“Ready?” For what?
“Lift up your skirt. I want to see it on you.”
Oh shit. My hands instinctively dropped to cover my privates. Because I hadn’t put it on.
He was going to be annoyed. He crossed his arms over his chest. I tried not to f ixate on how his muscles bulged with the action.
He tipped his head to the side and studied me. Why oh why did he look wounded? “Yo u did wear it. Didn’t you?”
I made a face and shrugged. “Why not?”
on that his eyes glassed over a bit when my cleavage leapt to the fore. “I was mad at you.”
“Mad at me?” “Because of her.”
“There’s no more her. But that is beside the point. You deliberately disobeyed.” His tone was so soft, so smooth, but a thread of steel ran through it. And despi te my determination to be an aggressive, powerful woman, that weeping submissive deep inside me wriggled to get out. It was a wet and slippery slope; she’d find h er way, and quickly.
He paced around the room, circling me, viewing me from all sides, making me turn this way and that to keep him within my sights. We were playing a game and we b oth knew it. But my reservations were very real.
“You do realize you’ll have to be punished.” This he murmured in a raspy bass. It rumb led through my being.
My clit began to throb. A slick dampness dribbled out. I softened. Punishment. I had always craved a firm hand. Especially on my ass.
Yet I resisted. Because he’d like that.
“I don’t think I deserve a punishment.” I sounded like a petulant pouter. But that was kind of the point.
“Did you disobey an order?” I put out a lip.
“Sweetheart.” He cupped my cheek with a big bearlike paw. “You have to play by the rul es.”
I turned my back on him but he just stepped behind me and pulled my body against his, spooning me.
It felt amazing but I couldn’t let him see that. So I tried to wrench away. “I don’t w ant to play.”
His hold tightened. “Yes, you do,” he said into the shell of my ear.
His palm skated across my belly and lower, to the hem of my skirt. Then it trail ed back up under my slip, creating tantalizing waves on my hypersensitive skin. He found my core, slipped deeper into my slit and rubbed.
He made that sound, that sound that had me weeping with lust. A guttural groan t hat said nothing and everything at the same time. He stroked and delight—sweet exc ruciating delight—rocked me. I whimpered. It was so good. So damn good.
It had been a long time since I’d felt this kind of heat. From a man. From myself. Together, we were incendiary.
His lips teased their way over my cheek to my earlobe then found that spot on my neck. He sucked. Sensation scalded me, rioted over my jangled nerves. My knees buckled.
“You like that, do you?” he whispered. “You want more.” He drew tiny circles around my a ching button, ruthlessly teasing me, challenging my sanity.
When I didn’t answer, he stopped. He pulled out from beneath my skirt, letting the dampness trail along my thighs. To remind me of my hunger.
“Take it off.”
I jerked in his arms as the command registered. I hesitated for a second. But th at was about all I had in me. Trembling, I fumbled for the hook, the zipper. As I drew it down, I came into contact with something hot and hard and throbbing. I had wondered about this, about him, for weeks. His length. His girth. His rigid ity. I allowed myself a surreptitious caress.
Maybe not so surreptitious. He growled and nipped at my earlobe. “No teasing.” “I wasn’t—”
He silenced me by jerking at my unfastened skirt. It fluttered to the floor. “Turn around.”
As though he didn’t trust me to do so of my own volition, he directed me with gent le hands on my shoulders. I stood there in my blouse, panties and heels, sufferi ng his inspection. I desperately wanted to cover my nether regions but knew bett er. Besides, this was nothing. I knew what was coming.
It made me quiver. “Unbutton your blouse.”
ith broad, flat palms.
“You feel wonderful. Warm and soft.” He felt wonderful too. Just the touch of his sk in on mine electrified me.
Heat surged in me. If he touched me just right, I would probably come right ther e on the spot. He would probably punish me for that too.
He tipped up my chin until our eyes met. “Are you okay?” I nodded.
“Are you ready to continue?” His tone was unsteady, intense. I swallowed. “Yes.”
“Take it off.”
From the tone of his voice, he was as beleaguered as I. As hungry as I. I took a dvantage of that and slowly slipped my blouse from my shoulders, catching it aro und the bosom for a heartbeat before letting it go.
Quaking, I stood there before him in matching black lace. Nearly naked.
His Adam’s apple worked as he studied me at length. Then he stepped closer, thumbe d a nipple through the rough material of my bra. Lightly. Gently. The ghost of a touch.
I threw back my head and groaned. Hot sizzling energy sliced through me from tit s to ass. Cream dampened my inner thighs. I pressed my legs together and a shudd er racked me.
He smiled and took my hand in his. “I think it’s time. I think you’re ready.” He led me to an overstuffed ottoman in front of the overstuffed couch. He sat and looked u
p at me, patting his lap. “You know what to do.”
Dear God. I did. I didn’t want to assume the position.
But I did. Slowly, carefully and with great trepidation, I draped myself over hi s thighs. They were so firm. I scooted up a little higher and rocked my clit aga inst them. Pleasure and anticipation trickled through me.
He didn’t begin immediately, damn him. Instead he tantalized my ass with that palm , around and around until I wanted to scream with frustration. His fingers, thos e disquieting digits, traced the band of my panties until I thought for certain I would go mad. In the end, I settled for squirming.
He liked that. He rewarded me with a swift pass over my pussy. “You’re so wet.” His voice was harsh, hungry.
“What are you waiting for?”
His chuckle resonated to my bones. “Don’t you know?”
I glared at him over my shoulder. He allowed it. For a moment. Then he firmly gu ided me back into position. He resumed the agonizing stroking until I was a wild thing.
When I snarled at him, he just laughed. “Don’t you know what I’m waiting for?” “No. No I don’t. Tell me. Please—”
The first stoke was fast and harsh and hard. I think I came a little right then.
“Yes. That’s what I wanted.” Another. Heat, the exact size and shape of his palm, slic ed through me. “I wanted you to beg for it.” He smacked me again.
“Oh yes. Yes. Please.”
And again. His hand rained down in a torrent of heaven and hell again and again and again. The smacks echoed through the room, along with my moans and groans an d his labored breathing. My ass jiggled with each blow.
They came quicker. More fervent. More frenzied. I writhed, struggled against him , riding him almost, seeking the bliss I needed.
“More,” I gasped. “Harder.”
He complied. Five. Six. Seven more slaps.
And then just as I was about to crest, just as I was about to explode in ecstasy , he stopped. I barely had time to cry out my denial, when he ripped my panties off. Without pause he shoved three fingers into my weeping cavern, deep, unyield ing and urgent.
And I came. Like an erupting volcano. A volcano gushing furious lava that had be en held captive beneath a ton of cold granite for an eternity. Finally—finally—relea sed in a glorious flood. I came and came, clutching at him with an intensity I h ad not experienced for ages.
When I finished, when I was sane and within my skin once more, he lifted me up a nd kissed me sweetly. Then he lowered me to the carpet, a thick, rich bed. He se ttled beside me and edged closer. I thought he meant to kiss me again, perhaps h op on top and begin riding right away, but he didn’t. He took my nipple in his mou th and, through the lace, sucked. I came again. But it was just a little one. An aftershock.
He grinned. “Wait here.” He levered himself up and before I could respond, bounded o ff to the bedroom.
Wait here? As though I could move. I was a bowl of quivering Jell-O. A flan. He was back in a flash with a foil packet.
Ah hell. That thought had never even crossed my mind. Thank God he was prepared. He sat on the sofa and gestured to me. “Come here.”
I disliked being commanded so but he had something I wanted. I saw it there, thr usting against gray flannel, a fat insistent cock. Even its ridge was pronounced .
I wanted it. I wanted it a lot. So I rolled over onto my knees and crawled the s hort distance to the couch. I wedged myself between his legs. I wanted to give h im what he’d given me. I wanted to give as good as I’d gotten.
He watched me with feral eyes. Passion blazed there but it was banked. His finge rs were tightly fisted. He was holding back. He wanted me to make the first move in this, our next sortie.
So I knelt between his thick thighs with his warmth surrounding me, his strength infusing me, and met his gaze. “Take it off.”
“What?” He blinked innocently.
Oh. So he wanted to play? I’d show him. I’d show him I could play. “The sweatshirt. Ta ke it off.”
He responded so quickly I almost laughed. But I didn’t. Because what he revealed s tole all reason. A broad, ridged expanse of tanned muscle sprinkled with a light dusting of sable hair. Oh. My mouth watered. I ached to touch him.
So I did. I explored his chest with my mouth and cheek. I rubbed against him lik e a cat until he arched his hips instinctively and nudged me with that rigid coc k. I let my lips trail to a nipple and sucked. He hissed through his teeth. Then I lapped and nipped my way down his chest to his belly.
When I diddled his bellybutton, he groaned. I followed the waistband of his swea ts from one side to the other with my tongue then covered the encased head of hi s cock with my mouth and blew out a hot breath.
He nearly jumped out of his skin. “Jesus! What are you waiting for?” I caught his gaze and grinned. “Don’t you know?”
He stared at me, befuddled and flustered and horny as hell. Then he lifted his h ips and yanked off his sweats. His cock, delicious and demanding, bobbled free. “P lease. Dear God. Please.”
My mouth was on him before the words were out. And my heavens, he was exquisite. Soft as silk and smooth as satin. Hard as stone and throbbing and fragrant. I w anted to gobble him up. So I did. I nibbled and sucked at the tip of his cock, d elighting in that sweet single drop of cum that, more than anything, stated his readiness.
But I didn’t let him come. Not yet. I wanted to explore that pole, as long and ste ely and firm as it was. I stroked him and teased him and made him plead.
And then when I was ready, when he was nearly mad with wanting, I crawled up ont o his lap, astride him, and rubbed my wet cunt against his cock. His heat agains t my clit made me shiver. As I undulated against his hardness, I found the crook of his neck—my favorite place on a man—and I feasted.
I found a spot that made him clench and hiss. A raw, desperate sound came from h is throat.
“Now.” His fingers trembled as he fumbled for the condom, ripped it out of the pouch and unrolled it onto his length. “Oh. Now. Now.” He pinned me with a desperate look . “Are you ready? Please tell me you’re ready.”
In response, I lifted up, positioned him against the simmering mouth of my cunt and impaled myself. On him.
Oh.
He felt so perfect, sliding into me. I was wet and slick and he was thick and ho t and long. I didn’t stop until we were belly to belly. Until he filled me. Comple tely.
I had to pause then, to savor the sensations. He stretched me, stuffed me, massa ged every nerve. My cunt danced around him, sucking at him, quivering, quaking. He surged inside me and my body clenched.
Slowly, I rose and fell again. And again. And again.
The wet slurping sound of a void being filled over and over rocked the room, pla ying counterpoint to his grunts and gasps, my cries.
But I couldn’t go fast enough. For either of us. So he took over.
He pulled out of me—much to my chagrin—and arranged me, ass up, over the ottoman. He spread my legs far apart, perched behind me and plunged in. Deep.
Bliss flooded me. Insanity consumed me. I rocked back into him, trying to make h im go faster, harder. I spread my legs farther, aching for the brush of his ball s on my clit. He must have sensed my urgency. He fondled, pinched, slapped that screaming button, all the while plowing into me with a raging passion.
The thrusts became short and fast. His body tightened. His cock swelled as it pr epared to erupt inside me. He shifted position, entering me slightly from the si de, hitting my cunt from a new angle. The ridge, that glorious steely ridge, str oked a secret place. A place that had never before been so caressed. A bundle of aching raw nerves.
I exploded. Imploded. Collapsed. A star consumed by its own brightness. An ocean drowned in its own tears.
He erupted in harsh, insistent jerks, shudders and throbs that resonated through my being and the bliss took me again.
He’d made me come. And I’d returned the favor. And yes. My ass still burned. It was paradise.
Afterward we made our way to the bedroom and curled up under the covers. His bed was magnificent. Huge and firm and warm. Or maybe that was him. His sheets were so soft, they must have been eight-hundred count.
But all I could think of was that she had slept here.
He must have read my thoughts, noticed my restlessness, because he laughed and s aid, “No. She never slept here. No woman ever has.”
I read the truth in his eyes. But still. Kinda hard to believe. He was some guy. The sort of man any woman would do anything to be with.
“I mean it.” He kissed me. “No woman. But I would like it if you would stay.” I nuzzled closer. “I’ll think about it.”
His chuckle rumbled through me.
We lay there for a while in silence, enjoying the afterglow of fantastic sex. An d then he went and ruined everything.
“Tell me about him.” I stiffened. “Him who?” “Your ex.”
A hot flush crawled up my nape. “What makes you think I have an ex?”
He stilled. Was quiet for a moment and then said, “Of course you have an ex. Every one has an ex.”
“I don’t want to talk about him.” Ever. “Why didn’t it work out?”
I pushed away and glared at him. “I don’t want to talk about it. Seriously.”
He yanked me right back into his arms. He was too comfortable. I didn’t want to co nform to him, melt into him, but I did.
“Tell me.” He kissed my neck. Stroked my thigh. “I need to know why things went sour.” “He took things too far. That’s all. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Took things too far…how?”
“I’m hungry. Do you have any food or are you planning to starve me into submission?” O h crap. Had I really said that?
His body stiffened around me—and not in a good way. “Did he do that?” Harshness roughe ned his voice.
“Did he hurt you?”
Now I met his gaze. Mine was laced with cynicism. “Of course he hurt me.” He hurt me so many ways I couldn’t begin to catalog them.
“Well, I won’t.” He tucked me back into his embrace and formed our bodies together. Hi s touch was tender. A promise. “I won’t.”
I fell asleep that way. We both forgot to eat.
Chapter Four Tuesday
We woke up late the next morning, still tangled together in the soft nest of his
bed. I felt wonderful, like I’d slept for a year. I hadn’t slept that deeply in…well, I couldn’t recall.
He rose up over me and settled his hot mouth on mine. He tasted wonderful, his b reath addictive.
“Good morning,” he rumbled through the kiss.
“Mmm.” Apparently I was incapable of forming a coherent response.
And then I was incapable of forming a coherent thought. Because his mouth nibble d and sucked its way across my cheek and over to my ear and then down my neck. D elicious shivers and shimmers sparkled through my body. My nipples peaked, my cl it tingled. I arched into him.
He continued grazing at that tender flesh as his hand teased its way from my sho ulders to the swell of my breast. His clever fingers found and plagued a puckere d nipple.
“Umm,” he murmured against my skin. The growl sent a wave of hunger and delight slui cing through me. “Do you like that?”
“Yes.” A warbled pant.
“Then you might like this too.” He licked his way to my other breast. Yes. I was probably going to like it.
He sucked the tip and a shaft of pure bliss shot straight from my tits to my cun ny.
“Oh God.” I wiggled my hips, trying to encourage him to do it again, but he didn’t. He just teased. Around and around and around my aching engorged nipple until I wan
ted to scream. “Please.”
His response was immediate. Immediate and brutal and damn exquisite. He sucked o ne nipple—hard—as he pinched the other.
He chuckled at the way I howled. “You like that,” he said. “A little rough.” When I whimpered in reply, he did it again.
Hell. He could have done that all day. But… “I have to go to work.”
He glanced up at me. A mischievous smile quirked his beautiful lips. “Yes. You do.” But he didn’t stop his delicious torment. He splayed his palm across my belly, exp loring and delighting me with his direction. Because it was down.
He was going down. I spread my legs as he neared. He chuckled again.
I felt his breath first. It was warm and soft and riffled through downy tufts. H e skimmed over my pubis, just raking me with a hint of sensation. I wanted more. I wanted him to rub deeper, slip into me, take me, possess me. But he didn’t. He toyed with me, taunted me, teased me. His tongue began a dance on the outer l ips. A swipe, a lick and a dab. Every so often it would slip a little deeper, nu dge at my throbbing button. But then—when I was almost there, when I could just gr asp my elation—he would withdraw and start again from the beginning.
I planted my feet on the bed and tried to thrust up into him but that only made him withdraw farther.
“Put your ass back on the bed.” He pressed gently at my hips. When I complied, he no dded. “Open your legs, like this.”
He arranged me so I was splayed before him. Shivers of anticipation racked me. E xcitement raged. When I squeezed my cunt walls against it, a bit of that excitem
ent oozed out, dampening me still further.
“Now.” He glanced up at my face. “Do not move. Not an inch. Do you understand?” I nodded. “Uh-huh.”
His evil smile should have warned me. But I was too far gone for logic. Also, he was lowering his head again. I was focused on that.
He drew a finger across my tender slit, starting at the top and dancing all the way to the very back. “You’re wet.” It sounded like an accusation.
“Yes.” God. “When are you going to fuck me?”
His only response was a dark chuckle. His tongue followed his finger’s path. Desperate for more, I lifted my hips. I had to. His response was a quick, short slap to my pussy. It was hard and hot and right over the mound that so craved hi s touch.
Little shivers of pre-orgasm scuttled through me and I groaned out loud. “Yessss.” He followed the smack with a kiss. Long and slow and sweet. Then he nuzzled in a nd did what I had wanted him to do for so long. He took my throbbing clit in his mouth and sucked. His tongue swirled around that fat nub, teasing it in an endl ess array of flicks and jabs. He licked at the underside of it, where it was so tender, until I began to writhe.
And he stopped. Again!
Panting, I clutched at his hair and tried to drag him back. Back to where he bel onged. Where I needed him. But he resisted. When I opened my eyes to glare at hi m, to plead, perhaps, he was staring at me, a solemn expression on his face. “I told you not to move.”
“I have to move. You’re driving me crazy.”
He shook his head. Sable curls flopped from side to side. “I told you not to move.” “Jesus. Will you just fuck me?”
“Not yet.” “When?”
“When you pay your debt.”
Well, that shut me up. My mind spun. “W-what debt?”
He scooted back up to the top of the bed and kissed me on the lips. I tasted mys elf on his tongue. His fingers, bless them, delved into my cleft again, rubbing small, slow circles around my clit. My pulse throbbed madly. I’d never been so aro used. So swollen. So tender.
“Yesterday I gave you a command. You disobeyed.” Oh. Shit. The G-string.
“I just—”
“Ah ah ah.” He tapped my lips. Drew a soft line along the seam, as though this hint of a touch would silence me. It did. “Until I get my due, no orgasms for you.”
I gaped at him. Seriously? I was mad to come. Literally insane with aching, thro bbing lust.
“You can’t do this to me!” I wailed. I actually wailed.
He had the temerity to laugh. And then he softened it with a kiss. “Sorry, sweethe art. Rules are rules. If you disobey, I will punish you.”
“You already spanked me.” Did I really need to remind him?
His grin was wolfish. “What makes you think that was a punishment?”
My mouth opened and closed several times in succession. Rather like a landed tro ut. “What was it then?”
“Foreplay. Now come on.” He sat up and took me with him. Every aching part of me pro tested. “Time to get dressed for work.” He shot me a dark look. “And when you’re ready, when you are all dressed, come back over here for your inspection.”
Why oh why, did that send a sharp sliver of delight through me? I stood and coll ected my clothes.
He watched as I dressed and then walked me to the door. “Oh, and sweetheart?” I glared at him. “What?”
“Don’t diddle your cunt in the shower.” “I’m horny. And you won’t do it.”
“Don’t. Do. It. I’ll know if you do. And that will only make it worse.”
of the answer.
He kissed my neck, a long, slow suck, a nibble, a lick. “Your punishment, of cours e.”
Of course.
I swung away, out of his clutches, and stormed across the hall. I had to swipe m y keycard several times before the door opened. I tried not to glance back at hi m, but I did. He leaned against the doorjamb, deliciously naked. His cock was at full stand.
If I was suffering through this, at least he was aching too. “Don’t forget,” he called in a singsong voice. “No touching.” * * * * *
My shower that morning was a quick one. It was damn frustrating that the pulsati ng showerhead was right there within reach and I couldn’t use it on my steaming cl it. But as frustrated as I was—and I was—I gloried in it.
Every time I thought of the G-string he wanted me to wear—all day—every time I thoug ht of him across the hall waiting for me, every time I thought of the coming ins pection, my body seized. I was on razor wire, so close to orgasm I could almost taste it.
Almost.
But the decision before me was monumental. It was more than the mere choice of w hether or not I would wear the G-string. It was bigger than that. The real quest ion was—was I going to do this again? Would I take the risk? Could I?
That’s the real trouble with addiction. You can love something and hate it at the same time. Not that I was addicted to sexual submission. I wasn’t. Hell, I’d gone fo r years without it. I just hadn’t enjoyed those years. Certainly not the vanilla s ex that came along with eschewing a powerful, sensual partner. But I could live without it.
Every day, though, had a huge gaping hole right in the middle of it. I’d been haun ted by the deep dark suspicion that my life was wanting. Plagued by a secret ach e for something more.
And this man, this man had brought that passion, that hunger, that spark roaring back to life. Brought me roaring back to life. And I reveled in it.
Did I want to go back to French-kissing fish-lipped props in the elevator? Prete nding I liked having their mediocre pricks floundering around inside me? Almost getting me there…but not quite?
Life with my ex had been exciting. Beyond words. But then he had changed. And ou r sex life had bled into the real world. And then started hemorrhaging. He had f orgotten all about the lines. Forgotten the safety words and the reason we were doing it in the first place. He had forgotten his wife was a person.
And it had become a nightmare.
I didn’t want to go back to that place. I couldn’t. Would it be different this time? Would he be different?
As I toweled off, I stared at that damn G-string lying on the bed and I weighed my options. Go back to the way it was before—miserable—or continue exploring this ad venture.
I picked up the device and dragged a thumb along the striations on the rubber. T he striations that would scrape against my clit all day.
Hell. I could walk away if things turned sour. I had before.
I fingered the leather straps and shivered to think how they’d look wrapped around the tops of my thighs, my belly, my ass.
Hell. I could always take the damn thing off if it became too much.
Watching myself in the mirror, I steeled my spine and slipped it on. Adjusted th e straps around my thighs and drew the thong between my damp lips. Settled the f lange against my clit and…
Ah. Ah.
The rubber triangle, so like a tongue, lapped at me with each movement. Heaven.
There was one more strap. One that slipped around my waist and held the whole co ntraption in place. I tugged it tight and snapped it shut and…
Oh. It was too tight. Each step would be a torment. Each breath a caress.
Panic flared. No. I had to take it off. And then to my horror, I discovered the snap at the back was a lock.
It was locked on. I was locked in. Bloody hell.
Panic flared. I got dressed in a flash and stormed across the hall. Pounded on h is door.
He opened it looking relaxed and svelte and way too handsome. He smiled. “Come on in. I made breakfast.”
He had. I smelled bacon. All of a sudden, I remembered just how hungry I was. I put out a lip. “I’m not hungry.”
He kissed me and tugged me over to the table set with crystal and china and…bacon. “Of course you are. We missed dinner. Sit.”
I winced. I couldn’t sit. The damn contraption was too tight.
He froze halfway to his seat when he saw my expression and he licked his lips. “Ar e you wearing it?” His voice was a guttural growl. A pulse throbbed visibly in his temple. He remembered to finish sitting but his attention was locked on me.
I picked up a piece of bacon and crunched my way through it. It was perfect. Jus t the way I liked it. “How do I get this thing off?”
He swallowed. “It’s not coming off. Not until tonight.” “You cannot expect me to wear this to work.”
He sat back. A smug smile teased his lips. “Seriously? I’ll be mad, insane, by lunchtime.” “Come home early.” A raspy, resonant response. I threw up my hands. “I have meetings.”
“Cancel them.”
“I can’t. We’re meeting the new boss.” “Tell him to go to hell.”
“Very funny. Come on. How does this come off?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. His grin blossomed.
“You’re a beast.” Was I laughing? Where the hell did that come from? One small gamine grin and I crumble into his arms? Seriously?
Apparently. “Let me see it.” “What?”
“Lift up your skirt. I want to see it.” “No.”
He quirked a brow. “Are you refusing? Someone’s hungry for extra punishments.” I flinched. I didn’t think I would survive any more of his punishments. Slowly, I lifted the hem of my skirt until my pussy, framed in leather, was exposed. I was well aware of the vision I offered. I’d stared at it long enough in the mirror. I also saw it in his eyes.
Along with hunger. Pain.
“Come here.” His voice thrummed, gravelly and low and raw. I stepped closer.
He put his hand on my thigh, just above the band, and stroked. “Jesus. You’re so bea utiful.” He set a finger on the rubber flange and rubbed.
My knees buckled. “I don’t think I can do this,” I said.
“You can.” His face was a mask. “I can.” He let my skirt fall and stood in a rush and ya nked me into his embrace. A savage kiss. “Try to come home early.” A ragged whisper. He walked me to the door. In a hurry. Like he was afraid he would change his min d or something. God. I wished he would. It wasn’t yet nine and I was in agony. How would I make it to five?
* * * * *
It was torture. And not just the rubber flange that nudged at my clit with every step, every movement. Although that was torture as well. It was thinking about him. Thinking about him thinking about me. That he was hard for me, wanting me, nearly drove me out of my mind.
Concentrating on work was impossible. Hell, even simple conversations were way b eyond me. I had my assistant run the staff meeting—planning our strategy for meeti ng the new owner—while I sat in my chair and tried not to rock myself to orgasm. W
hen the call came that Carter had been held up in Denver or Buffalo or someplace like that and would reschedule the meeting some other day, I nearly passed out with relief.
I was home by lunch. He met me at the door. Like he’d been waiting.
He slammed me against the wall and kissed me until we were both panting. He worr ied my neck with his lips, nipping and sucking and tugging in a frenzy. Found my breast and pinched my nipple. Ground his hot cock against the flange, against m y aching clit. I pushed back, lifting my leg and hooking it around his thighs an d locking him to me.
“Oh God. Oh God. I need you. I need you.” He stepped back and began to strip, never breaking eye contact. I did the same, right there in the marble foyer. In no tim e flat we were both bare. Well, except for that damn harness.
“Get me out of this.” Yeah. I hissed.
He fell to his knees and riffled through his pockets until he came up with a sma ll, delicate key. He turned me around. Buried his face between my ass cheeks and teased me with his tongue as he fumbled with the lock.
He dropped the key. I heard it tinkle on the floor. “Fuck!”
I danced from foot to foot, writhing in frustration and lust, an agony of antici pation. “Open it. Open it.”
He tried again, muttering under his breath, “What the hell was I thinking?” And then the lock clicked. The hideous device fell open. I was free.
As it fell, it landed on my foot and I kicked it far, far away. “Never use that on me again,” I snarled.
We came together in a heated rush. His feral kiss nearly consumed my soul. But t hen I gave it right back, full bore.
“Jesus.” He twisted me around and levered me to the floor and spread my legs and mou nted me. He slid in and I came. “Jesus. You’re so wet.” He pulled out and slammed in a gain and again. Each time I exploded in a fresh rush of bliss.
He was so fat, so full inside me. His cock stretched the walls of my cunt and he came at me from one direction after the other so each fervid thrust was like a new man inside me, a fresh fuck.
“Harder,” I gasped. “Harder.” I wanted him deeper, deeper still. I wanted him pounding i nto me, plugging me and coring me, caressing my womb.
He responded with harsh grunts, gasps, growls in my ear. He nipped my lobe and t hen scraped his teeth across my neck. Showers of sheer delight rained through my body, twanging and twining and twirling me into a crazy multicolored, dizzying bliss.
And then he flipped me over. Like a beast. He shoved my legs apart and dragged m e closer and sank into me once more, from this new angle. And from this new angl e, found me.
Everything within me seized. His strokes became quick and short and his cock swe lled even more. With each plunge he tapped that spot, that delicious glorious sp ot that gave me myself over and over and over until I could barely breathe. I panted in tandem with each desperate thrust. “Yes, yes, yes.”
He pulled out one last time and then filled me again. And filled me. Hot, sticky sperm surged from him, flooding an already swamped delta. His juices mingled wi th mine. Something about it, something wild and raw, set me off again.
He was in me. Would linger. Part of him would seep into me, soak into my thick a nd swollen walls. Be with me. Forever.
I shuddered one last time and collapsed.
He fell on top of me and rolled to the side, dragging me with him, wrapping me i n his arms. He kissed my hair, my neck, the tears on my cheek. “Oh Sam.” A sigh. And through the haze, through the bliss and the unending shivers still dancing t hrough my womb, I froze.
“H-how do you know my name?” I’d never told him. I’d never even brought names up. I cert ainly didn’t know his.
He stiffened. “Your name?”
“You called me Sam. How did you know my name?”
He nuzzled my neck. I pulled away. I couldn’t let him distract me. I rolled over to face him. “How?”
