Just the thought is enough to make my dick stir. I remember the last time she came by my office after hours. She wore that same sexy blue dress she wore to meet my parents, only this time, I didn’t let her wear it for long. I pinned her against the door almost before it had closed, and slid my hands up, pushing that dress up over her hips as my fingers toyed with the hem of her panties. I slid one finger beneath them, ran it along the edges of her pussy lips, and found her already soaking wet for me.
My dirty girl. She’s always as eager as I am, every time we reunite. It’s like neither of us can get enough, like we’re dying of thirst in the desert, and we’re each an oasis.
My cock hardens against the seam of my pants. I know I need to keep working, need to finish this and get out of here. But I can’t help the way my mind drifts. Toward thoughts of Mara last night, and the sheer nightgown she wore. The way she posed across my bed when I got out of the shower wearing only a towel.
I dropped the towel the second I saw her, and I was already getting hard. Harder still when she spread her legs and ran her hand up the inside of her creamy thigh, her fingers inching higher and higher up that sexy, soft skin of hers. She parted her legs and let me see she was naked under that nightgown. She ran her fingers along her slit, toying with herself, parting her lips, her tongue tracing the edges of her teeth as I watched.
God, she looked so fucking sexy. It’s a wonder I didn’t pin her down right there, but I was patient. I was enjoying the show, after all.
She lay back on the bed and started to finger herself, gasping softly with each stroke. That was when I couldn’t stand it anymore. I bent over her and took her hand, drawing it from her pussy and licking her finger clean slowly, my tongue hot against her skin, as I savored the salty sweet taste, her finger already coated in her juices.
I spread her legs then and pushed that nightgown up around her waist. Gripped the base of my cock tightly in one fist and guided myself to her entrance. With my other hand, I caught her wrists and pinned her arms over her head, telling her exactly where I wanted her, waiting for her to spread her legs wider for me, hooking her ankles around my waist, before I plunged into her.
God, that sexy little scream of hers undid me.
It’s enough to make me undo the top button of my jeans now, my hand stroking the edges of my cock through my boxers. Mara. Mara, Mara, Mara…
She’s all I think about. All day. It’s like I’ve been infected; like I’m addicted to that woman. And not only that, I’m lucky enough to call her my wife. I don’t know how I got so damn lucky, but I’m not about to waste it.
I slide my hand into my boxers, shutting my eyes to picture her face last night. That sexy little part between her top and bottom lips as she gasped. That soft mouth of hers, and the way her body arched up against me, her breasts digging into my hard chest when I drove into her again and again…
I start to stroke my shaft, my fist tight around the hard steel of it. I stroke my thumb over the top, feeling a bead of precum already gathered there, that’s how fucking horny this woman makes me.
I’m working myself up toward an edge when my door flings open without so much as a knock. My eyes jump to the doorframe, expecting to see Mara standing there, eager to call her over if it is, to have her join in.
But then I freeze.
It’s not Mara. It’s Bianca. Fuck.
There’s a desk in my way, blocking my cock from view—at least, so I hope—but still, it’s pretty obvious what I was just doing. I shove my pants closed again, and the zipper sounds deafeningly loud in this tight space, far too obvious. Still, I clear my throat and hope the flush doesn’t show on my cheeks.
“Bianca. Can I help you with something?”
“I’m so sorry,” she blurts. “I didn’t realize you were… um, that it would be a bad time.” Her face is bright red. Probably even redder than mine.
Still, she steps into the office, and shuts the door behind her slowly.
“What is it you need?” I ask, crossing one leg over the other to hide the inconvenient, still obvious bulge.
Her gaze drops toward the desk anyway, and to what I’m concealing behind it. “Nothing important. It was just a silly question about budgets, it can wait… until a better time…” She hesitates and glances up at me again, before she bites her lower lip slowly. “Unless, of course, this is a good time.”
I frown. “A good time for what?”
She hesitates again. Takes a deep breath. And then she steps toward my desk. Closer to me. “A good time for us to talk. About…” Her gaze darts down again. “Other things.”
“Bianca…”
But she’s already at my desk. Sliding onto it, in a way that all too obviously hikes up the hem of her skirt, revealing a clear slash of thigh. She’s not my type, never has been. But the move makes me wonder exactly how many higher-ups she’s used it on before now. “I wouldn’t blame you, if you were getting bored in here all by yourself. Or lonely.” She glances down again, pointedly, before her gaze locks back onto mine, her lips curved in a sly smile. “I can help distract you, boss.”
“No,” I say, more harshly than I meant for it to come out. I clear my throat with difficulty and rise from my chair. At least this conversation has been helping to kill my boner at a possibly record-breaking speed. “Bianca, whatever you think is happening here… it isn’t. Please leave.”
Her face flushes bright red, before it goes blanched and pale, emotions chasing themselves across her face. Surprise, then embarrassment… But she settles on anger by the end. Shoves off my desk with her fists balled. “Oh, so you prefer the butch muscular type, is that it?”
Not exactly words I’d use to describe Mara, but I can catch her drift. “I prefer my wife,” I respond coolly.
“She’s not good enough for you. Isn’t that obvious?” Bianca raises her chin, eyes narrowed.
It’s enough to spark fury in my own veins in response. “You need to leave. Now.”
She flashes me a furious glare as she storms toward the door. “You think you’ve had it tough, John Walloway?” Her voice comes out tight and angry. “You should learn what it really feels like to have your life ruined. Then we’d see how tough you really are. Or aren’t, without the whole world catering to your every whim…”
I don’t answer that. But when she slams the door behind her with one last glare, something sparks inside me.
Fear.
All I can think about is Mara. Mara, safe but oblivious at home, getting ready for our dinner date. You should learn what it really feels like to have your life ruined… What did she mean by that? What did she do?
I’m grabbing my desk phone before I even have time to think about it. I dial Mara’s number off by heart, one of the only phone numbers I bothered to memorize. It rings once, twice, and my breath hitches in my chest. No, don’t let anything have happened to her. I couldn’t face that possibility, couldn’t handle it if something had happened…
But then I hear her familiar voice on the other end of the line. “Hello?”
“Mara, it’s me. Are you on your way to dinner yet?”
I can hear honking in the background, the sound of traffic. “I’m in the car. Why, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine,” she points out, in the way that I normally love of hers, of seeing straight through my crap. In spite of my worry, I have to smile.
“No, it’s…” I shake my head. I’m being paranoid. Overprotective. I’m worrying about nothing, that’s all. “Something strange just happened, that’s all,” I say. “I’ll explain when we’re at dinner, all right?”
“Okay,” she says, still with that hesitation in her tone. “You sure you’re fine?”
“I’ll see you soon,” I say, mostly to avoid having to lie to her over that question again. “When you get to the restaurant, stay put, okay? I don’t want you off somewhere by yourself just now, that’s all.”
A long pause on
the other end of the line, followed by a sigh. “Okay, but you’re explaining what the hell is going on the second you get here.”
“I know,” I tell her. “I promise.” I hang up and shut down my computer, reaching for my coat. There’s still more work I’d planned on finishing before I left tonight, but screw it. First priorities have to come first. And there’s a nagging sense of worry I can’t shake, a fear that there’s something wrong here that I’m not seeing right now. It’s a worry I know I won’t be able to shake until I’m with Mara, until I have her in my arms and I know she’s all right.
So, leaving work unfinished, something I’ve never done since the day I started Pitfire years ago, I shut off my office lights, lock the door carefully behind me, and head downstairs toward my car, to go and find my wife.
12
John
She’s standing outside the restaurant when I pull up. It’s a nicer place, a new one that just opened in town, which we’d both been eager to try. But right now, the restaurant and its well-reviewed fare is the last thing on my mind. I toss my keys to the valet without even looking, and beeline straight toward Mara, not stopping until I wrap my arms around her slender form and pull her against me.
She laughs softly, her face buried in my chest, the vibration of her laughter traveling up through my arms and chest, sending my head buzzing with the fresh proximity of her. I dip down to kiss the top of her head and try my best not to get distracted by how amazing she smells—rose shampoo mixed with her jasmine perfume and the scent beneath them both, a sweet smell that’s all my wife.
“There you are,” I murmur against her hair, and she laughs again, drawing back just far enough to tilt her chin up and catch my gaze, her eyes narrowed with confusion and more than a little bit of suspicion.
“What’s going on?” she asks. “Are you all right?”
“I am now that I know you are,” I tell her, my arms tightening around her once more.
She tilts her head back, and I bend down to kiss her forehead, then the tip of her nose, and finally her lips, soft and slow. She lets out a sigh and sinks into me a little more closely, just for a second. Then she twists out of my grasp. “Are you going to explain the freak out, or are you going to leave me in suspense all night?”
I grimace and slide my hands down her arms before I take her hand, leading her toward the front of the restaurant. “Bianca came onto me.”
“What?” Mara’s eyebrows shoot upward.
I explain everything. The office. What I’d been daydreaming about—in a low voice, but enough detail to make her blush and check our surroundings to make sure nobody could overhear. We reach the maître d’ stand then, and I pause long enough to give him our name and watch the man’s expression shift from surprise to eagerness. He leads us through the restaurant, to a little back room I reserved for a private chef’s tasting.
After more than enough pampering to drive us both crazy, asking every ten seconds if either of us need anything else from him, the man finally leaves us in peace. It’s only once we’re alone again that I resume the story.
I tell her about Bianca walking in on me, and her flirtation. Then I add how I rejected her, and what she said afterward.
All the while, Mara toys with her menu with one hand, frowning, her eyes on the table and her thoughts apparently a million miles away. Finally, unable to stand the tension, or the guilt that’s sitting like a rock in my stomach right now, I shift in my chair, leaning closer to Mara.
“Did I lead her on? I swear, I haven’t flirted with her, or said anything to make her think we’ve been anything but colleagues this whole time… But maybe I was giving off signals unconsciously, maybe I said something in the wrong tone—”
“You’re being too hard on yourself,” Mara cuts in. “I’ve seen the two of you together. You never did anything wrong, John, trust me. I’d have called you on it way before now if you had.” A touch of a smile ghosts across her face.
I grimace in response. “But that reaction of hers… Saying I should learn what it’s like to have my life ruined?” I scowl.
“An overreaction, definitely.” Mara sighs. “She was probably hurt, embarrassed, angry you didn’t fancy her the way she fancied you…” Mara shakes her head. “Crushes make people do stupid things.”
“Believe me, that much I know.” I manage a smirk.
Mara rolls her eyes and kicks me under the table. Then her expression shifts into a sly smile. “I’m flattered you thought of me so quickly, though.”
“Even if it was to over react and freak out that you were in some kind of danger?” I point out, eyes narrowing.
She laughs. “Of course. It’s kind of sexy how protective you are.”
“You have no idea, wife.” I reach down under the table, my hand tracing along her thigh. She’s wearing jeans again, like she normally does, but that’s never stopped me before. My hand inches higher, and her lips part a little as her eyes dart around the restaurant. Or at least, the small back room where we’re seated.
“John…”
“I asked for this room for a reason,” I reply, my smile widening. “Privacy is key, when you’re a big-name celebrity like me.”
She smirks, rolling her eyes. “Oh God, the ego has finally gone to your head.”
“What can I say? I’m used to getting what I want, when I want it.” I lean toward her, my lips catching her temple, then sliding down her cheek. “And what I want right now, Mara, is my sexy wife.”
She shivers and tilts toward me, her body shifting against mine. “You sure about that? You don’t want to flirt with anybody else?” She says it lightly, like a joke, but it makes that rock of guilt shift in me again, and I pull back, just far enough so that I can see her face, my eyes locked on hers.
“Mara, I would never flirt with anyone else.”
She laughs. “Relax, John. I know that.”
“Still.” I frown. “I feel like I wronged you somehow. Just, that whole interaction…”
She shakes her head. “Don’t think about it.” She leans in to kiss me, then, her lips soft and sweet against mine. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” She reaches up to cup my cheek, her hands soft against my stubble. “You’re a good man, John Walloway. And an even better husband.”
I smile and turn to kiss the open palm of her hand. My gaze drifts down for a second, to the ring she’s wearing again, now that the shallow cut on her ring finger has finally healed. We got it resized a little, so that it fits properly, not too tightly or in a way that might injure her again.
I have to admit, it looks beautiful on her. But even better is the knowledge of what it means. Of how it marks her as mine. My wife. I don’t plan on ever letting her go.
“I love you, Mara,” I whisper, feeling every word of that.
Her eyes go wide, fixed as they are on mine. I can see her pupils dilate, watch the way her breath catches in her chest as she takes in the full meaning of that.
“I love you,” I repeat, reaching up to cup her face between my palms. I lean in to kiss her again, to taste her mouth, those perfect shell lips of hers soft and pillowy on mine.
When we part, her lips remain parted a breath, her throat working with a tight swallow. Then her gaze leaps to mine once more. “I love you too, John,” she breathes.
God, she’s so beautiful.
And I’m so fucking hard right now. I don’t hesitate. I slide my hands down her curves and draw her toward me. I pull her onto my lap, until she’s straddling me, one knee on either side of my chair, the menus discarded and forgotten on the table beside us.
I reach down between us to undo the top button of her jeans, my fingers grazing the smooth plane of her belly underneath her shirt. She tenses at my touch, arching her hips toward me, her back curving in a way that makes me unable to resist sliding my hands up along the small of her back, tracing that arch, dragging her down against me.
With my other hand, I cup the back of her neck and draw her into another kiss, slow and searin
g. At the same time, I undo the zip of her jeans the rest of the way, reach my hand between us and into her pants, sliding my fingers down to cup her pussy tightly, hard and sudden.
She gasps and arches against me, grinding into my palm with abandon. Her hair cascades down her back, free and wild, just like her.
“God you’re so fucking sexy,” I whisper, and she smiles at me, her eyes dark with desire. I shift my hand against her, starting to rub her pussy through her panties, already able to feel how wet they are with her lust.
“You… drive me wild,” she murmurs, in that sexy, throaty voice that I love, when she’s turned on and can’t resist anymore.
I push the thin, soaking wet fabric of her panties aside and trace my finger along the lips of her pussy, one at a time, teasing, going lightly. “I can tell,” I say, one eyebrow arched. “You’re always so wet for me, dirty girl.”
She licks her lips, and the movement, the track of her tongue, draws my eye, makes me think about all the things she does with that tongue. At the same time, her hands slide down between us, and she traces the bulge of my cock through my jeans. “And you’re already hard just thinking about me, aren’t you, husband?” The word husband sends an extra pulse of white-hot desire through me.
This is what I wanted earlier tonight, alone in my office. I wanted her hands on me, touching me, tightening around me. More than that, I wanted to be inside her.
I shift my hands out of her jeans, ignoring her faint little mewl of protest, and wrap my hands around her thighs instead. Her eyes flash to mine with surprise, just before I rise from the seat and push her back against the table, sending the menus onto the floor.
Her eyes dart to the door, but I smile, shaking my head. “Nobody will come in until we call them,” I say. “I made sure of that.”
I knew I’d want Mara all to myself tonight. The same way I do every night, any time we’re alone together.
Marry Me Now: An Arranged Marriage Collection Page 34