The phone rang seven times before she returned to the operator. “Mr. Harold is not answering, would you like to leave a message?”
“Message?” she repeated to herself. Too late, the attorneys chewed up half the morning, and she was left with her sex about to climb out the window onto the ledge, and Reggie likely ensconced in meetings for the remainder of the day. “No, I guess not.”
Pulling a slip of paper from her purse, she dialed a second number and heard a familiar voice answer.
“Ah! You did call,” Ian exclaimed.
“It might be best to come around six,” she suggested.
“Sneaking around, huh?” he asked.
“I want it private.”
“I’m easy to accommodate,” he returned. “And I’ll have a surprise for you.”
***
With the lights out, Ian Pennywhistle’s second assault on her in a week could be accomplished nearly anonymously. She waited for him in near darkness, an attitude of mind as much as the reality in her darkened office where she anticipated his arrival.
Skilled at the extemporaneous moment, Ian was quick to answer Jocelyn’s mood and was for a second time amused and elated by the prospect of having this amazing female under his control. She’d always been a testy one in the past. But the years having matured her and the likelihood that her husband had educated her beyond ordinary sexual talents, she’d become an even more fascinating conquest.
Her office open, he crept silently inside and closed the door, seeing the redhead sitting primly at her desk. Somewhere in the distance a vacuum cleaner purred erratically. In the outer office the fax machine hummed. And a low agitated whine from the pop machine in the hallway made Jocelyn a meditative picture of serenity appearing out of the din of muted office noise.
“I knew you’d want me again,” Ian said softly, as he leaned in, one hip resting on her desk.
“I wanted my husband tonight,” she informed him.
“So, I’m just second fiddle to the master?”
“Actually, I think you play a different instrument altogether.”
“That doesn’t matter to me.” He stared for some moments, trying to figure a mood he’d never really associated with the carefree woman he’d known years before. Reading from her expression a malevolent demon lurking in Jocelyn’s frame of mind, he could see endless possibilities. At the same time, he feared it was desperation not desire motivating this tryst. He’d be careful. “If I were to guess, I’d say you don’t want it easy tonight.”
“Probably not,” she agreed.
“Then I’ll take your ass,” he decided. He turned to the sitting area in her office, spotting a chair that looked appropriate for his purposes. “Over the back of that should do.”
Rising, Jocelyn walked like a woman on the way to the gallows, a woman prepared to be punished for the crime of rampant desire. The act itself would be a second crime against her marriage vows in one week, driving her more deeply into an irreconcilable position with Reggie. However, knowing this did nothing to dissuade her. If Reg had been at the hotel that morning, if she hadn’t been in meetings that afternoon when he called, if he’d simply stayed in his room to take her call just an hour before, all this might have been averted.
Looking at the waiting Ian with his diabolical eyes shining down on her, the powerful need in her flared—maybe even more powerful than she might have felt with Reggie standing there. Being a naughty wife had its own peculiar kind of charm. While Ian stared at her, she reached around and undid the clasp and zipper on her skirt. Letting it drop to the floor, she likewise unfastened the garter belt and inched each stocking down a leg until the two flesh-colored bits of nylon and the lace belt were a puddle on the floor.
Though Ian didn’t ask for this formal unveiling, he appreciated the spirit in which it was performed. His only disagreement came when she turned to bend over the chair.
“Put your heels back on,” he ordered. The look of her ass in heels was not something he planned to miss.
With her feet tucked back inside her high heels, Jocelyn resumed the ceremony, offering Ian Pennywhistle her bared behind to abuse as he saw fit. Had he realized how willing and how well-schooled she was in sexual submission, he might have thoroughly abused her bottom and left a scarlet masterpiece of welts. As it was, he remained reluctant to wreak the darkness that was part of his nature. He was assured of a rowdy ass fuck, but it was dangerous to push a woman in Jocelyn’s fragile frame of mind into a bitter battle. Above all, Ian was an opportunist with the sole intention of enjoying himself. Leave the rancor and soul searching for the husband. His plan quickly set, he wouldn’t waver.
Noting what a juicy cunt greeted his roving fingers, Ian used the liquid to lubricate the puckering hole above. One, two then three fingers were easily inserted beyond the tight barrier, and she began to relax. Given the way she seemed at ease, Ian could tell that Jocelyn Killian Harold was well versed in the requirements of anal stimulation and surrender. He smiled at his good fortune.
Taking his enlarged organ from his pants, the thick piece was pressed against the doorway for just an instant before it slid inside. “Ahhhhh, ahhhhh yes,” the delighted Jocelyn murmured under her breath, while her bottom moved in tiny jerks and starts as she got used to the penetration. “Deeper, Ian,” her melodious consent urged him forward. But knowing his own mind in the matter, Ian choose to keep his erection just beyond the opening where he could slowly move inside and then withdraw, and then move just a little deeper the next time he thrust. Having the yielding woman moaning for that one deliciously enthusiastic plunge inside the nether portal, he amused himself until he was sure he’d driven her to the edge of endurance. Then with an alarming lunge against her ass, he nestled deep within where he remained motionless for some seconds.
He felt her muscles pulsing around his organ. The spasms were severe. Jocelyn had difficulty getting used to the intense and sudden violation even though she’d asked for it. But letting her rest with the prick inside to the hilt, she finally came around to accept him fully and began swaying her hips again as a whore’s come-on.
“My, what I’ve missed,” Ian sighed. An exalted shiver of happiness tore through his loins and limbs. Drawing his erection back, a gentle massage of the woman’s whole channel began. Each time the ramming organ drove deep and then slowly pulled away, Jocelyn’s body quaked and an audible, half woe, half pleasure escaped her lips.
In her mind she was escaping reality. With every thrust of Ian’s bold cock another piece of her wounded life was falling aside, lost in the void where for a time she wouldn’t be reminded of the pressing hurt. Such a pleasant amnesia! Only if she could, she would swim in that place forever, never resurfacing, never becoming conscious again. Picking up speed, Ian began fucking her harder. His dick probed her like hell on wheels. She screamed softly, demanding she relinquish more, that she give up any desire of her own, abandoning her own needs for his. She became her ass alone, nothing more than an ass for a horny man to screw.
Ian lasted a long time inside her, drawing back and waiting several times when he was about to climax. Building again with intensity renewed, the willing recipient of his relentless pursuit for the perfect orgasm allowed herself to be used with little worry that he’d cause her pain. The harder his prick thrust the more she seemed to like it. And then by some common agreement communicated in the silent language of two fucking bodies, Ian picked up the pliant flesh of Jocelyn’s form, and held her tight against his chest as he climaxed.
Ian brought her back to life by fingering her clitoris. She jerked hard, her body spasming deeply and without restraint now that Ian had been satisfied. And yet with so much going on inside her body, she struggled to find the orgasmic handle. Ian had an expert way of toying with her cunt, and soon her body crested to a place of physical ecstasy where she stayed for a long while as the orgasm rolled through her.
She jerked several times in his arms when he kissed the back of her neck and his hand fondled her
freely. Then, when the last sensations died away, he turned her about and held her until she was ready to back away.
“It was never as good as this, was it?” she said.
“Not in my memory,” Ian replied. “But then if memory serves me well, there’s no orgasm quite like the present one.”
“Oh, not for me, I could rate them on a scale from one to ten,” she said. Sighing, she picked her clothes up off the floor and collapsed into a chair too weak to do more.
“Humph. I never believed you that objective,” Ian retorted.
“Ah, this is not an objective thing at all.”
“So, how about dinner?” Ian suggested. “You hungry?
“Ravenous.”
“You have a bath through here?” He pointed to the doors at the end of the room.
“Uh, huh.” She answered. “Take your time, I’m in no hurry.”
As Jocelyn watched Ian disappear into the bathroom, she gazed toward her desk, immediately spotting the picture of her and Reggie taken at Tahoe after their wedding. His arms surrounded her and their faces were flushed with excitement from a day water skiing. In an unguarded moment the photographer had caught them in a casual moment. What exuded from that rendering was Jocelyn’s favorite memory of her husband, spontaneous and smiling with his signature charm reeking from every atom of his carefully cultured soul. What one glance at that photograph did was bring her back to an awful reality she hoped she could forget for a few more hours. Unfortunately, the sweet emptiness of the sex was gone, and she had to wonder to herself why she was compounding the problems that already loomed over her life.
Chapter Five
Life almost seemed normal with Reggie home. They had sex the night he arrived, almost as memorable as sex with Ian. Ian was special because he was different, but not because he made her feel any better. Sex with Reggie was comforting, though it was never mundane. But after her interludes with the scoundrel, re-establishing the relationship with her husband was the foremost thought in her mind. She was relieved to know that Ian would be leaving town the day after their dinner together. Vulnerable as she was, too much temptation proved dangerous.
It was time to get make things right with Reg, and time to get beyond the muddle of her working life. She was mulling changes, almost ready to admit that Reggie was right about her business’s demise. The morning after his homecoming they sat together in the kitchen sharing a civil breakfast that promised to proceed without an argument.
“You were pretty hot last night,” she said, running her toes along his leg. Perfectly starched and ready for work, his face was buried in the paper, but he looked up responding to her fondling.
“I have a fondness for your ass, what can I say? Is it still sore?”
“Just a little. I thought you’d never stop spanking me.”
“You liked it, didn’t you?” was his cool reply, and he returned to his newspaper while Jocelyn returned to the kitchen for the coffee pot.
Strange how things turn out, she was thinking. Rarely was she punished enough to feel the effects the day after. But the night before, once Reggie had tackled her to the bed, he’d been unrelenting with a new leather spanker he’d purchased in a New York leather shop. It started and ended playfully, with a rash of hard burning smacks to the center of her ass cheeks; but he might as well have been punishing her for some crime considering the intensity of the spanking. Maybe without even knowing, he was punishing her for her dalliance with Ian. How poetic, she was thinking in the aftermath. Would that be enough to absolve her of her guilt? Perhaps not. But she’d give it a try.
“More coffee?” she asked as she was about to pour some into his mug.
“What’s this?” Reggie asked. What had been a decently pleasant look on his face abruptly faded into a scowl. He pointed to Germaine Charles’s gossip column, something he rarely read.
“What’s that?” she asked, gazing down at the paper.
“Let me read it to you,” Reggie said, pulling the paper away from her.
“One wonders what’s amiss in the romance between the Reginald Harolds, the irrepressible Jocelyn Killian Harold just seen at Dorsis with a new man-about-town, who this reporter has yet to identify. Sources suggest that Mrs. Harold’s new darling is a European born magnate of some renown. It’s nice seeing a smile on the face of the lovely head of Killian Management, who’s been so reviled by the press for her alleged part in the now infamous Ibercon catastrophe. Seeing her so cozy with this elegant man on the dance floor Friday night, one can only speculate that the idyllic marriage between the Harolds is ripping apart under the strain of this never ending and very public corporate battle. Perhaps the cool Reggie Harold is no long handling his wife’s faux pax with his accustomed grace. Quite fascinating drama, don’t you think?
By the time Reggie spit out the last of Germaine’s biting chronicle, Jocelyn was weak-kneed and slumping into a chair opposite her grave looking husband, trying to keep him from noticing the sudden fear that swept her soul.
“New darling’?” He looked at her with eyes sharp and biting.
“Reg, it was nothing. You know how Germaine exaggerates little things, that’s what her column thrives on.”
“You weren’t at Dorsis Friday night?”
“Well, yes I was.”
“And mystery man?”
“An old friend,” she stated with a believable aplomb. That said Jocelyn rose from her chair and puttered about the kitchen as if there was nothing at all to worry about.
“What old friend?” Reggie asked.
“Ian. Ian Pennywhistle,” she replied, deciding to be as honest as she dared be, less of a hassle should he have other ways to discern the truth.
“And?”
“It was so long ago. He looked me up when he got to town, and should be off elsewhere by now.”
“I see.”
“From Europe?” he asked.
There was a lot of dangerous territory to cover here, since she’d never mentioned to Reggie the bawdy summer of indecency she’d spent with a dapper young Englishman.
“England,” she said.
“Would you like to tell me more?” he asked.
“There’s nothing more to tell,” she replied. “Really Reg, it was totally innocent. Germaine can make bedfellows of anybody she likes, but she’s making things up reading romance into my dinner with Ian. He’s typically Continental, droll and fawning.”
“I thought he’s English.”
“He is, but he’s spent lots of time on the continent.”
“So why haven’t I heard about him before?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I just didn’t say anything, and then it seemed unnecessary. And we were very busy last night. Good god, if I’d known that shrew would set her claws like that, I’d have fessed up the minute you got home. But it was honestly innocent.”
“And was Ian a former lover?”
Jocelyn stopped short at that question. Her hesitation didn’t suit Reg, but he calmly waited for a reply.
“He was. But it was so long ago.”
“I thought I’d heard about all your men. But not this one.”
“I suppose that just indicates his importance in my life—which was very little.”
He nodded, then gazed at the column again. “Perhaps you should be more careful displaying your private life in public,” he suggested.
“I swear, Reg, it was nothing.”
“I hope not,” he replied, suggesting that he wanted to believe her, but wasn’t sure if he could.
***
After an early meeting with her staff, Jocelyn was putting the finishing touches on her plans. Bail out. Hadn’t Reggie used that term? Surely someone had in the midst of the tempest in a teapot that had brewed over the last five months of disaster. But bail out was the most direct way to put it. Once decided there would be no going back. Shut down Killian Management, take her chips and go home to some great whatever after. Perhaps Alex had said it best. “Maybe it’s just Jo
celyn Killian wanting another lifestyle.”
Wise advise. She was thirty-five, had all her wits about her, a husband who adored her in a strange sort of way and the possibilities were endless for life after Killian Management. That decided, there’d be more meetings with attorneys as she hammered out the details, and some personal friends to assuage as she sent them to another management consultant in town, one without the shoddy reputation.
Looking out from her high-rise office to the city she loved, Jocelyn breathed deeply, thinking she was on the way to something new even if she had no idea what that might be. In her bones she was tired, the months having taken their toll. Perhaps she could convince Reg to take a long vacation.
A knock at the door startled her.
“Come in,” she said, seconds later seeing Ian Pennywhistle’s smiling face appear.
“Lunch, love?” he asked, slipping inside.
“I thought you were supposed to be gone?” she asked.
“Couple days yet, my dear. But that just means we have more time.”
“My husband’s home, and the game’s off,” she replied.
“Ah, I see,” he replied thoughtfully as he ambled toward her. “That just means we’ll have to be more careful.”
“No, it doesn’t mean that at all,” she answered him, remaining firm.
But Ian was sidling up to her where she sat behind her desk. Soon on one knee before her, his uncanny charm oozed about her like a thick, warm liquid. A hand worked its way up her leg and found her wet where her thighs meet and she was most womanly. One finger dipping into the lusty reservoir toyed daintily with the cottony folds inside.
“Just one more for the road.”
“No, Ian, no,” she replied trying to remove his hold on her—a difficult task when the attention was almost too delightful to pass up.
The Alexandra Series Page 62