Womanizer

by Katy Evans

  “Callan,” I groan.

  He groans too, laughs and sets his forehead on mine.

  “Oh god, Callan,” I cry when he teases my clit with his thumb.

  He’s intent and sober as he thrusts again and thrusts his tongue into my mouth, his body moving sinuously, lithe as a wildcat and muscular as a mustang.

  “So right. So goddamned right.” He’s growling and thrusting now.

  “Don’t stop,” I groan, breasts bouncing from the impact, head rolling to the side.

  He catches my hands and places them above my head. He uses his thighs to spread mine farther open as he withdraws. I look at him, and he looks at me.

  He drives back in. My eyes flutter shut before he shushes my name and makes me open them. Oh god. I’ve never loved a man’s cock the way I love his. It’s hard and thick and long and strong. It’s what joins me to him. It’s what enables him to take me the way I want to be taken. It’s what fills me, right now, with ALL OF HIM.

  And I can’t get enough.

  The muscles of his arms bulge as he laces his fingers through mine. Captive and unable to use my hands, tremors are already racing down my body.

  I grip him with my sex, and my mouth, all I can use.

  I drag my lips over his jaw, nipping the hard angle.

  He looks so hot, I get even wetter, and it feels so good I’m already at the brink.

  For a man who has everything, you’d never expect him to be this hungry for one girl. Much less for me.

  But Callan is devouring me with his eyes, his hands, and his big, thick cock.

  He sucks one nipple, then the other.

  He tells me how beautiful I look, how perfect I feel. My body starts tightening in preparation for orgasm, and Callan pulls out, waits one thrilling, anticipatory heartbeat, then holds my arms over my head and plunges back in, deeper and harder.

  I convulse as an orgasm rips through me.

  “God, you’re a wet dream.” Callan’s gruff, admiring voice filters through as I thrash beneath him.

  I want him here with me, and suddenly, with unnatural force, I push him to his back and impale myself down on him. He grips my hips and gnashes his teeth as I ride him. He pumps his hips faster, really fast now. His body jerks and a sound rumbles up his chest.

  I hear his delicious groan and I come a little more, feeling his muscles flex and contract. He comes really hard, his cock jerking several times inside me. He rolls us over to the side and continues coming, drawing out the sensation, groaning when he’s done.

  “Oh god,” I moan, clutching him, then laughing happily. “Oh god, that felt so amazing.”

  He laughs softly in my hair before rolling to his back.

  “It’s so intense with you. Is it always like this?”

  He lifts his brows, his eyes gleaming. “You tell me.”

  I stare at him, into his gorgeous copper eyes. He lifts his head and licks and suckles my nipples and my smile fades as desire starts up again. I clutch his head as it moves over my breast, the heat of his mouth arrowing to the tenderly aching spot between my legs. “You’re very sexy when you do things to me,” I admit.

  Maybe it was the date or the constant days of sexual frustration that make it intense, I wonder. Or maybe it’s just intense. With him. I want to go again.

  Well hello, nymphomaniac Livvy!

  Hopefully sex maniac Callan won’t mind.

  He pries free and heads to the giant marble bathroom to clean up, and I curl up on my side and watch the door. He exits the bathroom—all sweaty and naked—and our eyes meet.

  I sit up when I notice him lift the sheets with the intention of slipping under the covers with me.

  He leans over and takes my lips, leisurely, with no rush. “I really, really enjoy kissing you.” The husky murmur is whispered against my mouth.

  “Am I sleeping here?” I’m wondering out loud whether I should get dressed to be taken home.

  His arm slides possessively around my waist as his chuckle prickles through me.

  “Not sure how much sleeping there will be. But I’m not going anywhere. Neither, for that matter, are you.”

  It’s dark. The only sounds those of wet kissing and whispers. Raw and hoarse. I’m straddling him, his arms around me. One hand cupping my butt, his thumb caressing the fissure.

  Breathing and panting as we keep kissing.

  “This okay . . .?”

  His voice is husky. I’m panting harder and harder. He turns his head and kisses the exposed upper swell of one of my breasts, squished against his chest. He licks it and groans and squeezes the flesh, easing his other hand deeper along my ass cheeks to caress my pussy from behind. My clit is squished against his cock. My nipple is absolutely hard and puckered and I feel relief—relief and an intensification of everything at the same time—as he lowers his mouth and sucks me. He sucks me lightly at first, and when I moan, a little harder.

  “More than okay,” I say, rocking my hips to tease his hard cock, wanting it inside me.

  Soon we’re fucking, slow and lazy, sitting on the bed, my arms and legs around him, his hands on my ass, moving me, his mouth in control of mine, his hand on my breast, his scent in my nostrils.

  I come with a little gasp that he swallows, and he murmurs how sexy I look as he rolls me to my back and finishes off with the most delicious thrusts of my life.

  Soon, I start dozing off.

  “Come here. I’ll let you be the little spoon tonight.”

  “You been the big spoon often?” I ask groggily.

  “Not really but you’re so tiny, I could fit in a couple of you right here. Scoot over.”

  I roll to my side and love the feeling of his arm around me.

  I turn to face him and tuck my cheek into his neck instead. I’d always loved being held by my dad and brother, it made me feel safe and protected and cared for. But I’d never been held like this by a lover. It’s different. There really is no space between bodies. You go the extra few inches closer so that you smell his skin and feel his heartbeat under your cheek—and while you’re enjoying that you almost fail to realize he’s sort of nuzzling your hair, also enjoying having you this close.

  “How many women have you slept with?” I ask.

  “If you’d asked me two months ago, I’d say not enough.” He groans and shifts on the bed to his back, and I cuddle his side instinctively.

  “And now?”

  He props himself up on his elbow and looks down at me, eyes thoughtful and intense. “I don’t know. It’s starting to feel like enough from where I stand.”

  “As in, you won’t want to sleep with anybody ever again?” I laugh. “A man with your libido, there’s no way.”

  “Don’t be obtuse, Olivia,” he laughs. “No. That’s not what I meant. I meant enough to know when I find one who could put all the other experiences behind me.”

  “Not me, though.”

  “Why not you?”

  “Well, I’ve got six years to go before I’m twenty-eight. I mean, I want to work a lot and establish myself.”

  He’s silent.

  “Callan?”

  “Hmm,” he says thoughtfully, looking down at me with hot eyes.

  “Why are you silent? It’s making me nervous.”

  “Stop talking, Livvy.” He sticks his tongue into my mouth, shifting me on top of him to caress me and make me realize he’s ready for more.

  “So this boss of yours. What does he make you do?”

  It’s dawn.

  We’re still in bed.

  With a total of thirty minutes of sleep for the night.

  We’re so fucked.

  He lies naked on the bed, slim hips, broad shoulders, the definition of his muscles like a playground under my fingers.

  “Aside from sending me to get his coffee twice, sometimes three times because he’s too busy to drink it while it’s hot, my boss pays me to chew on pencil erasers,” I say.

  “Waste all the brilliance of that mean little mind?”
<
br />   “I know, right? Pfft.”

  He tilts my chin. “I had a good time last night.”

  I feel a tiny twinge as we part. Is this it? Is this all, and how the other girls end up feeling?

  “Am I seeing you again,” he asks.

  “Excuse me?”

  “How’s Sunday for you?”

  “I . . . um. Sunday is today.”

  He just smiles at me, waiting.

  I laugh and nod. “I might be free Sunday.”

  “I’ll drive you home to change and pick you up at noon? Wear something comfortable.”

  “Wait. What? Where are we going?”

  “Let’s do lunch. Maybe some work later. Then dinner.”

  Butterflies flit in my stomach as he drives me back to my apartment to hurry to get ready for noon. Okay, Livvy, this is nothing. It’s nothing, really.

  But every inch of my well-fucked body knows it’s not nothing. The truth is nothing this man gets involved with could ever amount to nothing.

  I’m just afraid to know what this something is.

  Monday I have an extra little hop to my step after the fabulous Sunday I spent with Callan.

  Mr. Lincoln is back in full swing at the office and he seems pleased with my work.

  “In the few weeks I’ve ever taken off due to illness, I’ve never come back to the office to find I’m caught up. Good work, Livvy.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Lincoln.”

  I dive straight into a set of new proposals he asks of me while he meets with Callan upstairs, and later that same day, I get a message on my office messenger from the CEO himself.

  Terrace @ 6 p.m.

  I read it over several times and can’t help the stupid thudding in my breast.

  You know that thing you know that won’t do you any good, but you can’t stop doing it anyway? It’s a little bit like smoking, or getting high, eating too much chocolate, chasing the bad boy. Well that’s what Hot Smoker Guy is to me.

  I’m beyond wanting to keep a distance now. I can’t stop getting close. I’m the millionth woman in the universe who’s found her flame and realized she’s just this tiny, fragile little moth, helpless to fly away from it.

  I work, and work, and work until my alarm rings, signaling that it’s six o’clock.

  I put my stuff away and lock my drawer, then I take the elevator up with mixed emotions. Mainly excitement, and a little dread for the things I can’t help but feel inside me.

  I step outside and breathe in the warm summer air. The sun blazes orange on the horizon. I stay clear of the railing but my eyes scan the terrace, side to side, for him.

  I spot him in a lounger, checking his phone, a cigarette dangling at the corner of his mouth.

  A frisson of electricity runs through me when he senses my presence and lifts his head to look at me, his hair tousling in the wind.

  It’s hard to remember he is not my Hot Smoker Guy right now.

  Hard to remember my name is Olivia stupid Roth.

  “Would it be terrible of me to ask for a hit?” I ask him when our eyes meet.

  His lips twitch a little higher, and he pries the cigarette out of his mouth and pats his side.

  I head over.

  I take a seat, take a drag, exhale and pass it over. He looks down at me with a smile, and I smile back.

  It’s 8 p.m. and we’re still on the terrace, with two cigarette stubs in an ashtray on the low table before us when his strong hands circle my waist and lift me to his thigh.

  I curl my arms around his shoulders and clutch his hair.

  “Not here,” I beg, a soft laugh leaving me.

  “Olivia,” he says even as I kiss his full lips, prompting him to softly kiss me back, “if I’m to make you come for every one of those hundred men who failed to do so, we’re going to do this all over the place.”

  His voice is thick with desire.

  “Have you been thinking of this?” he asks.

  I bob my head up and down. “I saw you at the cafeteria and I hated everyone for being there, keeping me away.”

  “One of the interns, I think his name is George, wouldn’t stop looking at you.”

  “What?” I gasp in surprise, and choke out, “I didn’t notice.”

  “I did,” he assures me. “Do you want to know something?” He strokes both my nipples over my shirt with his fingers now. I’m wearing a bright pink bra for his benefit and his eyes darken when he notices it through my cream silk shirt. “I used to like it when you taunted me. I’m not that sure I’ve got it in me to play this game anymore.”

  My heart starts pounding.

  “I want to punch every guy who looks at you for more than five seconds.” He cups me between my legs, lips curving. “Because I want more of your sweet, wet little bush.”

  “Callan!”

  “What? Won’t you give me more of this sweet little bush?”

  “Stop saying that.”

  He grabs my hips and leans close. “Saying what? Sweet, tight little pussy.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Your perfect, pink pussy.”

  “Callan!” I kiss him to shut him up.

  “Say it, come on,” he huskily croons.

  “No, you’re having fun with it. If you want my golden little bush . . .” I start laughing.

  “God, you make me hot.”

  “I’m not done,” I assure him. I really want to taunt him now.

  “You talk about how much you like dick, I’m going to lose it,” he warns.

  “Dick. Oh yes, I love it.”

  “You saying naughty things makes me insane.”

  We’re so hot for each other when we arrive at his place. Callan brings out the red scarf I’d worn as a hair band and I tremble head to toe as his touch begins to brush over my skin and my nipples. He wraps my bandana around my eyes.

  I can’t see him—but this intensifies every touch to the maximum.

  Callan turns me around and presses me against the wall. I thrust my butt out as he opens his mouth on the freckles on the back of my shoulder and licks his tongue over them, twirling it over my skin, opening his mouth even wider to suck on my shoulder.

  He kicks my legs wider apart. “Make room for me.”

  I flatten my palms on the wall and turn my head, and he’s there, taking my mouth as he drives in.

  He’s in me—his flesh full and throbbing—and I groan and start slowly dying.

  He jams his hand around my waist and between my legs, caressing my clit as he takes up a rhythm.

  “How does that feel, Livvy?” he asks. His gruff voice sends pricks of pleasure running through my skin.

  I lick my lips, aware of how fast I’m breathing. Of Callan’s own deep breaths.

  “It feels . . .”

  I trail off, no words for it.

  Nobody, nobody, knows how to work and play better than Callan.

  At Carma, we’re all business. But every evening, it’s all playtime.

  And I’ve become this man’s favorite playground.

  He’s played with me every night for the past two weeks. We usually end up at his place so he can take work calls during the evening, but we’ve ended up at my place too. We’ve been bingeing like troglodytes on each other.

  I’ll say this: Sleeping with the boss is sexy.

  Going to work every day for him is sexy. Talking to him about work is sexy. Being taken over by him is sexy.

  Even the danger is a little bit sexy.

  Except the few times when it’s . . . worrisome.

  “The only bad thing is that if anyone finds out I’m doing the sexy with you, they’re all going to think I got ahead because I slept with you,” I told him one night when we were at my place.

  “The important thing is that you’re going to know that they’re right.” He touched a finger to the tip of my nose.

  “Callan, shuuut it!” I groaned.

  He laughed, then shifted over, his big weight on top of me. “Come on, Livvy. You’ll have your own busin
ess. You and I will be fighting over the market.”

  “Like Mr. and Mrs. Smith? I kind of don’t like that.”

  “What do you like, huh?” he’d asked, rocking his hips.

  The heat in his eyes had stirred awake my every pore, and I’d tilted my pelvis beneath him, nudging his hard cock with my hips.

  “That,” I breathed.

  “Really? You like . . . this?” We were naked. My condom basket had really taken a hit.

  He’d given it to me slow at first, teasingly, and then hard, harder, and hardest—and I’d walked into the office the next day with a sore V and a big grin on my face.

  That week, when I head up to his office with some papers Mr. Lincoln wanted him to have, I couldn’t resist baiting him as he skimmed them.

  “I’m disappointed,” I said, breathless.

  “Explain why you’re disappointed,” he said, setting the papers down.

  Standing next to his chair, I leaned down to his ear. “You’re this wicked bad boy, always teasing me. Instead of taking advantage, hugging me and feeling me up, you’re being too much the gentleman.”

  “We’re in the office, Miss Roth. Let’s not forget we have work to do. Expansion plans for GRT. Plus . . . you’ve got to get your head in the game. Alcore’s wide open.” His hand cupped my knee under my skirt and trailed sinuously higher up the back of my thigh.

  “But the news is bad on its last quarter,” I said, confused and breathing a little hard when his finger started skimming up the back of my leg.

  He cupped my butt and sat me on his desk as he took up the papers again and continued skimming. “Sometimes a financially sick corporation with carryovers and write-offs can merge with a healthy one to make big business,” he told me.

  And I found out he’d just made a tender offer for the company.

  Now it’s Friday evening, and there’s a get-together at Carma to celebrate a milestone. It’s an employee- and family-only event. It’s well underway when I arrive wearing a low-back silver dress with my hair in a sleek ponytail.

  Familiar faces from Carma swarm the party room, and I greet those whom I know and smile at those I don’t.

  All the time, I keep scanning the room in search of one face in particular.