Breaking All the Rules
Page 17
“What do you like, kitten?”
My father calls me Kit Kat. Other people call me Kat, short for Katalina. I meet my behemoth’s gaze. “I like it when you call me kitten.” I know this isn’t what he’s asking.
He smiles, his straight white teeth flashing in his tanned face. “Do you like having your breasts played with?”
I shouldn’t be having this conversation with a stranger. “Yes.” I bow my spine, pushing my breasts into my palms, fantasizing he’s the one holding me, touching me. It has been so long since I’ve been touched by a man.
“That’s it, kitten,” he coaxes. “Play with your breasts for me.” I knead my curves, wishing to please him, to please myself. “Do you like having them kissed?” he asks.
“Yes.” I picture his face buried between my breasts, his golden tan contrasting with my pale skin. His mouth will be hot and wet, his suction unrelenting, pain mixing with my pleasure. I pant, working my breasts harder, rubbing my pussy against the bench, the friction escalating my desire.
“Do you like having them fucked?” His low voice adds to the sensory assault.
“Ummm . . .” I’ve never considered this option before. I lower my gaze. His pants are tented around his hard cock. What would it feel like to have his shaft cradled between my breasts? I run my tongue over my lips. “Yes?”
“Close your eyes,” he instructs and I comply, trusting him. The darkness heightens the brush of my fingers over my breasts, the grind of my pussy against the hard wooden slats. I moan softly, swiveling my hips.
“Imagine I’m straddling your chest,” he rumbles. “Do you feel the weight of me? The warmth of my skin?” I nod, trembling. I’m close, so close. “My big cock slides between your breasts in and out, in and out. I squeeze you around me. My hands are rough and scarred.”
“Yes, please.” I rock, ravishing my breasts with my hands, tugging, squeezing, twisting my nipples. My curves are bared to this stranger, to anyone who enters the park. Only a hedge separates us from the bustling city streets. I’m exposed, vulnerable and completely his, trusting him to keep me safe.
“You do please me.” His words flow over me, adding fuel to my flames. “My balls are aching and I want to come over your beautiful white breasts, over your pink nipples.” The tremors rolling up my body grow more and more powerful, my arms and legs shaking. “But I can’t come until you do, kitten. Tell me what you need from me to get you there.”
“Smack my clit.” I breathe heavily.
“Yes.” His approval warms me. “Reach under your pretty purple skirt and smack your clit for me. Smack it hard.” I hesitate. This is wrong. We’re in a public park. “You need this,” he adds.
He’s right. I need this release. My emotions are too close to the surface, too unmanageable. Once I come, I’ll feel calmer, more able to cope with my eight o’clock appointment.
“Okay.” I sigh my surrender and slide my right hand under my skirt, between my thighs. My desire builds, escalating higher, my body stretching tight.
I position my hand over my mons and slap the heel of my hand against my clit. The pain breaks me, shards of pleasure shooting over my body, color and light bursting against the darkness of my closed eyelids. I bite down on my bottom lip, silencing my screams, and arch and buck and writhe, shameless in my satisfaction.
Gradually I return to reality and to the realization of what I’ve done. I’m sitting in a public park with my skirt hiked up and my blazer open, my face flushed with ecstasy. He sees me like this. I avoid my stranger’s gaze as I pull down my skirt, adjust my bra, and button my blazer, my movements sharp.
“You’re beautiful, kitten,” he says softly.
He must think I’m completely uninhibited, a woman without any morals. “I’ve never—”
“I know you haven’t done this before.” He raises one of his big hands, stopping my explanation. There’s no judgment in his dark eyes, only an understanding. “Why did you choose this morning? Why here? Why with me?”
“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. A combination of factors might have contributed to my insanity—the stress of the new job, the sadness haunting me, and him, the most magnificent man I had ever seen. “I trust you.”
His eyes harden and his jaw juts. “You shouldn’t trust me. You don’t know me. If I had been someone else—”
“If you had been someone else, I wouldn’t have done this.” I bend down and wipe the dust off the toes of my lavender pumps. “Don’t you feel the connection between us?” I cover up my insecurities with a smile.
My sexy stranger sighs. “Yes.” He slides his tablet into his inside jacket pocket, stands, tosses the coffee cup in the garbage can, and takes three steps forward. He’s even larger upright, his form over a full foot taller than mine. “I’m walking you to the office.”
I check my watch and my eyes widen. “It’s five minutes to eight.” I jump to my feet, my cute heels crunching on the gravel. “I’ll be late for my first day at work.” I place my coffee cup beside his in the garbage can and sling my tote over my shoulder.
“Are you nervous?” The stranger walks beside me, matching my shorter stride.
“Of course I’m nervous.” I slide one of my hands into his and his fingers close around mine, his palm grooved with deep furrows. “I’m a new intern and interns are chosen by their executives. What if no one chooses me?”
“You’ll be chosen.” My behemoth’s grip on my hand intensifies. He smells of lemon and cedar. Not a hint of cigarette smoke spoils this pussy-moistening combination.
“I left the experience section of the application blank.” I chew on the inside of my cheek. “I helped my father, but I didn’t know if that counted as experience and I didn’t want to lie.” I lied about my last name. I didn’t want to lie about anything else. “My father always tells me business deals are built on trust and trust is built on truth.”
My stranger turns his head and meets my gaze, his forehead furrowed with thought lines. “Your father always tells you that?”
I nod.
There’s a long pause in our conversation, as though he’s giving my father’s words deep consideration. “He’s right,” my mystery man finally concedes, his voice gruff.
I beam at him, liking him even more for agreeing with my father. “Will I see you tomorrow?” I want to see him, very much.
“Yes,” he rumbles. I wait for him to say more. He doesn’t. He slows and then stops. “I’ll leave you here.” He reluctantly releases my hand, his fingers slowly sliding along mine, his scarred skin rough.
I tear my gaze away from his, stare up at the building belonging to Blaine Technologies, and frown. “How did you know this is where I’m working?”
He doesn’t answer. I glance to my right. He’s gone, his distinctive scent lingering on the morning breeze. I breathe deeply, inhaling that part of him, square my shoulders and stride into the building.
About the Author
* * *
Cynthia Sax lives in a world filled with magic and romance. Although her heroes may not always say, “I love you,” they will do anything for the women they adore. They live passionately. They play hard. They love the same women forever.
Cynthia has loved the same wonderful man forever. Her supportive hubby offers himself up to the joys and pains of research, while they travel the world together, meeting fascinating people and finding inspiration in exotic places such as Istanbul, Bali, and Chicago.
Please visit her on the web at www.CynthiaSax.com
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.
Also by Cynthia Sax
Flashes of Me
The Seen Trilogy:
He Claims Me
He Touches Me
He Watches Me
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resem
blance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Excerpt from Flashes of Me copyright © 2014 by Cynthia Sax.
BREAKING ALL THE RULES. Copyright © 2014 by Cynthia Sax. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition APRIL 2014 ISBN: 9780062328212
Print Edition ISBN: 9780062328236
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