by Joey W. Hill
He came around the table and stood in front of her. Reaching out, he toyed with a strand of her hair, following it down. Her hair was hanging loose, away from her body, but close enough that she could feel the layer of air compress between his hand and her tingling nipple.
"You can hold out another ten seconds."
She shook her head. "I don't think so."
"No?" He tugged on the strand of her hair and feathered his knuckles over her nipple. "Even if I do that?"
Her gaze lifted to his, and she moistened her lips. "Do what?"
His mouth curved, but it wasn't with humor. "Stay where you are, Samantha Beth. Don't close your eyes. Tell me when your shoulders start to hurt."
He was the only one who occasionally called her by her first and middle names. She wondered why he thought she'd close her eyes, but then he brushed both palms over the tips of her breasts. Once, twice . . . Sensation speared between her legs, to the base of her spine, up into her throat and through her aching shoulders. She found herself straining toward him, lifting her chest. Whether intended or not, he'd made sure she was doing a very good stretch. But it also pushed her into the red zone.
"Geoff . . . it's starting to hurt."
"Eighteen . . . nineteen . . ." He teased her nipples once more and moved his hands to her shoulders, holding them and easing her back so she didn't hurt herself trying to relieve the pressure too quickly. "Twenty. You should probably do some of the exercises that work those muscles out another way. You really pushed it on that one."
He returned to his chair and started working again. As if nothing had happened. Seriously? Was he playing some kind of Dom game with her? No, that was the counting thing, and he'd been getting into it, she could tell. Then he'd withdrawn.
She tried not to scream. Ever since she'd become determined to actualize this thing between them, she kept hitting this wall, with both men. She'd come to the conclusion they were restrained by the belief that it was an either/or situation: that she was going to choose one or the other. Though the three of them had met in college and been roommates ever since, Geoff and Chris had been friends since childhood, so neither would step over that line and jeopardize the chances of the other man.
Yet if she truly were in love with only one of them, she would have denied herself and moved out, because she would never drive a wedge between Geoff and Chris. However, she'd always sensed something percolating between the two as strong as what she felt for them. It was buried in the shadows of their deep friendship, but she could feel it waiting. If she was brave enough, she might just be the bridge for all of them. If the stubborn cluelessness of the two men didn't make her brain explode.
She'd thought about trying to have a meaningful conversation about it, but any attempts to get them to talk about feelings resulted in withdrawal plus shutdown. Or they'd just listen to her, nod, and things would continue the same as always. God had a sick sense of humor when it came to communication between the sexes.
She did a few more exercises and coiled up the resistance band. As she passed behind Geoff again, her gaze slid over what he was doing. She'd seen him print out the document under his left hand, and he hadn't written any notes on it. The work documents and notes that had to be preserved were to his right, perched on a couple of law books. His laptop was in a safe space. Should she . . . Oh, the hell with it. She eased forward. "Geoff, do you think--"
It was ridiculously easy to tip the coffee mug, as less than a fourth of the contents were left. A finger of fluid swept across his printout as she drew in a breath. "Oh, I'm so sorry." She hurried to get a paper towel and started to mop it up. "That was really clumsy."
"Yes, it was."
His tone was torn between exasperation and something else. She tried to hide a smile that was part mischief and all nerves, both fueled by something more urgent than either one. She really couldn't get more contrived. Her face was flushed, she was sure. When he closed his fingers around her wrist, she jerked, not to get away, but a twitch of response.
"Take off your shirt, Sam."
The unexpected command sent a thrill right down to her toes. Especially when she raised her lashes to meet his hazel eyes and saw exactly the look she'd been hoping to inspire. "I can't . . . unless you release my wrist."
"Ask me to do that."
Did he feel like she did, a foreigner who'd suddenly found someone who spoke her language, making it impossible not to speak straight from her heart?
"I don't want you to let go of me. I like how it feels, you holding me like that."
His gaze flickered, his jaw tightening. He loosened his grip, but only enough to guide her arm across her body. With her wrist still resting in his hold, she was able to use that hand to free her other arm from the sleeve and pull the shirt over her head. The shirt slid down and draped on the connection between them. He let go of her to pull the shirt off, then recaptured her wrist. He sat at eye level with her breasts, studying the quivering curves.
"Skin like milk and snow. That's what Chris says. He's always worried about you going out without sunscreen." Geoff cupped one of her breasts in his free hand and she made a whimpering sound in her throat as he held it firmly, passing his thumb over the nipple until it beaded further. Her pale skin felt too tight for her body. She wanted to be released to fly, only she wanted to fly right to him. When he lifted his gaze to her face, the look in his eyes arrested her. So often she'd seen thrilling hints of what she'd suspected was there, and his even, cool expression sent a hot flush through her. So much was happening behind those eyes, things that simultaneously scared her and unleashed the cravings she'd kept wrapped up for far too long.
If he truly hadn't explored his Dom side, they could be about to crest the first big hill of this roller coaster together. That was scary, but it didn't scare her, if that made sense. She'd seen things at the private parties with Flo that had scared her, things she wasn't sure she wanted to do. Florence had helped her with that, too.
"A Master or Mistress doesn't dominate with ropes or pain. They do it with a word, a look, a simple touch. The rest is just fun and play. The root of what you desire will come from his lips, his hands upon you, the way he looks at you. Dom/sub relationships are ninety percent about the mind."
Now she understood exactly what Flo meant, because when Geoff was wearing that expression, she was a morass of confused desires and a still heart, waiting for a word from him to begin beating.
"You knocked over my coffee on purpose," he said thoughtfully. He had a mesmerizing voice. Regardless of whether he spoke softly or in his court voice, it drew attention, making a woman strain her ears to hear what he said. "Did those exercises to tease me."
"Yes." She lifted her chin. "That day we went to Naughty Bits . . . we didn't get to talk like you said we would. I'm tired of waiting."
About a week ago, she'd coaxed them into an erotica shop, Naughty Bits, thinking that would be the best way to send them the message that it didn't have to be either/or, that she wanted both of them. The intuitive owner, Madison Fine, had drawn Geoff over to the Dungeon Room. Barely breathing, Sam had watched out of the corner of her eye as Geoff fingered floggers and rope, studying the things Madison showed him.
When Sam had darted a glance toward Chris, she'd found him staring at Geoff with an unfathomable expression, until he noticed her watching. He started teasing her about the role-playing costumes the two of them had been left to examine.
They hadn't bought anything that day. Madison had suggested they go to a local bagel shop, discuss their desires and come back after they decided. They'd headed off to do just that. Then Geoff got a call from work about some kind of affidavit crisis. Twenty-four hours later, Esteban was ringing Chris's cell about the trip to Mississippi.
"Hmm." Geoff had precisely sculpted features, a far more masculine version of the male beauty often depicted in the sensual Abercrombie & Fitch ads. Though he was a corporate attorney, when his expression became more uncompromising, as it did now, she imagined
him as a criminal prosecutor, bringing a hostile witness in line. Or making a point to the jury the way a judge did when admonishing them or giving them instruction.
"I'm tired of bad girls who interrupt my work," he said in just that tone. "I'm going to spank you."
Oh God. Yes, please. He must have registered her reaction, for his lips quirked, though his gaze remained steady, flat. He stroked his long fingers over her throat, making her lift her chin, then his grasp on her wrist increased. She wondered how he was going to proceed, how she needed to cooperate or react so they both didn't end up feeling foolish, but he took all those concerns away. In one decisive pull, he yanked her down over his lap.
Strong as she knew he was, feeling it firsthand stirred up a whole hive of bees in her lower belly. He steadied her before she could even start to flail, uncertain of her position. Bracing a hand on her ass, he took a nice solid grip on one cheek through her flannel pajama bottoms.
He wasn't tentative about it, which made suspicion bloom. He'd done this before. Or maybe he was like her, thinking about the same kind of thing so often that he'd switched from theory to practice without a blink. She'd told herself she'd have to have courage to go down this road, but what if she couldn't handle the reality of it? She was about to find out. Maybe that was why he'd decided to finally act. Not because she'd pushed it, but to see if he could scare her back into her corner.
No. A sadist he might be, but cruel he wasn't. He wouldn't humiliate her with no purpose, or he wasn't the friend she felt she knew, inside and out. But still, anticipating his Dom side for so long, imagining what it would be like, was very different from being so abruptly immersed in it.
Hooking his thumb under her waistband, he dragged her pajamas to her thighs, exposing her ass. Once committed, he didn't believe in half measures. She bit back an unexpected moan, not wanting to do anything to change his mind. Geoff had her over his lap, her backside exposed, and was going to spank her. She was shaking a little, no matter that she was trying to hide it.
"Milk and snow here as well," he mused. "I've thought about making this gorgeous ass red plenty of times. Especially when you parade around in front of me and Chris in these tiny T-shirts and low-riding pajama bottoms like we're your brothers or some shit like that."
He sounded almost mean. She wet her lips.
"I didn't mean--not at first."
"I know. But you still need to be taught better manners. Now be quiet. I'm going to count in my head again, and you'll just have to guess how high I'm going to go. Spread your thighs. I want to see your cunt get wet from this."
She'd never thought of such words coming from Geoff's mouth. She'd imagined some things, but she'd shied from the rougher stuff, not sure of herself. Yet when she heard the primitive word fall from his cultured lips, anticipation leaped in her chest. She adjusted her thighs.
"Nice," he said, in a low voice that had gone thick with lust. "Christ, Sam. You're going to kill me."
"But . . ."
Whap!
She jumped at the first swat. It was more surprising than painful, but the sensation stopped the words in her throat, so that his subsequent admonition wasn't necessary.
"I told you to be quiet. No talking. You can moan or plead all you want, though. I'd like to hear that."
That outrageous statement came with a surge of confusing response. Sam wasn't sure whether she was supposed to be insulted or . . . quiet. She found she wasn't capable of either.
He kept a restraining hand clamped on one buttock as he worked on the other, and it was a crazy feeling, the grip of his fingers on her flesh as his palm cracked against the opposite cheek in a series of blows that warmed her skin, making it tingle. Then it began to burn and sting. He switched, worked on the other side, then adjusted his hold to the center of her back to spank the full heart-shaped area.
"I've wanted to do this for so long . . . Your pussy's all slick and smells like heaven. I'd like to tie you up. Chris and I would take turns eating you for hours."
Oh God. He understood.
It was the first time either of them had acknowledged or suggested sharing her in any way. It made her so glad and hopeful, the words pulled another whimper from her. He'd gone still again, as if waiting to see what her reaction would be. He chuckled, a dangerous sound.
"Careful what you wish for, little girl."
He started spanking her again. Hard swats that came up from below, hitting the widest part of her ass, making both buttocks wobble, followed by straight down, flat cracks of his palm against the sides and tops of her cheeks. She was lifting up for more, pleading, moaning. Her arousal dampened the pockets of her thighs, slid over her clit, tickling it. When she pressed her mound against his leg, the resulting reaction sent her into a near-climactic haze. A harder swat made her yelp.
"You won't be rubbing your pussy against me, Samantha Beth. I decide if you get to come, and you've been very bad."
She swallowed another moan as he continued her punishment. Her ass was throbbing, and the blows were coming hard and fast enough to be painful, but she couldn't stop wanting more. The only reason she wanted him to stop was to put her over the table, fuck her while she laid on his papers, marking everything that belonged to him with her scent. She wanted his cock inside her, wanted him to completely claim her, make her his.
Flo had warned her about this flood of crazy. When you finally let yourself have a submissive experience, it's going to crash over you like a tidal wave, like a drug you'll never get enough of. Make sure you're with someone who knows how to handle that.
She wasn't sure if Geoff knew how, but both of them seemed caught in the unrelenting grip of the moment. Geoff's breath was rasping in his throat. His cock pressed against her belly, a steel bar under his jeans that made her pussy twinge with longing to have it shoving inside, joining their bodies.
"Geoff, please . . ."
He stopped so abruptly, she wobbled on his lap. He steadied her again. The way he made slow, teasing circles over her backside with his palm, it was as if he was calming himself, all while he aroused her past her ability to control herself. She needed to come. She couldn't think beyond that.
"Do it," he muttered. "Rub yourself against me now. Ask me to come when you're ready for it. Beg me."
He wrapped his hand in her hair, tight, and kept his other hand on her ass, kneading, pressing her down against his thighs. She spread hers farther, adjusting, and he helped. The firm muscle of his thigh flexed right where she needed it as she strained against him. She couldn't think about how this must look, this humping against his leg, but his reaction to it made her impossibly more aroused. He wanted her in this awkward pose, wanted to see just how hot and wanton he'd made her, shameless in her need to come.
The orgasm vibrated through her. "Geoff . . . please. I want to come. Please . . ."
He stayed silent, as if waiting to see what she would do if he said nothing, held back. She fought the climax, tried to stay on the razor's edge, waiting, needing to hear him say it. "Please . . . Geoff." Her voice broke in desperation. "I don't . . . want to go . . . until you say . . ."
"Come, then. Come for me."
She bucked against his leg, rubbed furiously and uttered tiny, frustrated cries because contact was hit or miss, denying her the full strength of the orgasm without diluting its drawn-out intensity. But when he started to spank her again, her reaction jumped to the level of screaming ecstasy, causing him to curse reverently under his breath. He left off spanking her long enough to capture a nipple in a thumb and forefinger, pinching hard and sending pain shooting through her. Yet it gave the climax another bump, a shard of incredible sensation rippling right behind the pain.
"God . . . oh God . . ." It was gone too soon, ebbing off of her like a rushing tide, leaving her vibrating body braced for another onslaught. She wanted more. More, more, more.
***
Instead, Geoff's cell rang. He barked another curse, this one not reverent in the least. "It's Mr. Cade," he said,
referencing his boss. "Christ, Sam, I'm sorry."
He righted her so she was sitting on his knee. Holding her in the curve of his arm, he picked up his hands-free piece, stuffed it in his ear. "Yes sir?" He cleared his throat. As he listened to the senior partner, he typed a note on his laptop screen, drawing her eyes to it with a short gesture.
Go get dressed, bad girl. We'll talk about this later.
He lifted her to her feet, not giving her a choice. He helped adjust her pajama bottoms and panties, pressed her shirt into her hand and sent her toward the hallway with a firm squeeze of her smarting ass. But her legs were trembling, and she felt dizzy, disoriented. The hallway was moving off to the left while she moved off to the right, the wall suddenly in front of her face. She stopped, swaying, just as she heard a chair scrape. A breath later, Geoff's hands were on her, his body giving her a stable place to lean.
"Yes sir. I can have that ready by Monday without a problem. I've already started on it."
Though she had friends who bitched about boyfriends who ignored them when they were on the phone, she found she had no complaints with Geoff's attentiveness in that regard. The rhythm of his speech remained as smooth as ever, yet he turned her toward him, bent and scooped her up in one easy movement, carrying her into her bedroom. He'd never carried her before. She'd jumped on Chris's back when they were roughhousing in the fall leaves and he'd dumped her in a big pile of them, but that was as close as she'd gotten to this.
She hadn't imagined literally being swept off her feet, but she wasn't objecting in the least.
Geoff put her down on the bed. She shouldn't play with him when he was on the phone with the man responsible for his paychecks, but she wasn't playing. She couldn't release his neck and shoulders. She pressed her face in his neck, needing him to hold her.
He gave in to her, continuing the conversation with one knee pressed on the bed, him leaning over her. He slid his arms around her, warm and tight, his breath teasing her cheek as he responded to whatever questions were being asked on the other end of the line. He did that for a few full moments, steadying her before he at last gave her a firm squeeze and slid free, standing by the bed and looking down at her. She hadn't put the T-shirt back on, so she was spread before him half naked. His gaze returned to her breasts to caress her bare flesh with merely a look.