Nine Kinds of Naughty

by Jeanette Grey

  “Yeah, I am.”

  He sat up halfway. “I’ll get you off—”

  She didn’t doubt it for a second. She shook her head. “I know. Believe me, I know.” With that, she let her thighs fall open again, and all the effort seemed to bleed out of her bones. She didn’t have to try so hard or make all the decisions.

  She could give that to him. This could never last—a fling between a boss and her employee based on kinky sex didn’t exactly scream out staying power. But it didn’t have to. For now, she could let herself go, and later, someday, when he moved on or she decided she needed her space, she could take up all the burdens of her life again. But here, for at least a few moments, she could put them down.

  A little more of the tension seeped from her limbs. Letting her neck go slack, she collapsed onto the pillows, every piece of her pliant.

  Fuck me, she wanted to say. Take me. Or take control.

  But what came out was, “I’m yours.”

  A part of her wanted to wince at the words, but they were out there on the air now. No matter what their future might hold, right now at least they were true.

  She was his. His to take and to fuck and to ask of what he would, and she would give it freely. All she wanted was that soft, floating place, that peace she’d never known could be for her. She wanted sex to be easy.

  Between one heartbeat and the next, she clenched her eyes shut tight. When she opened them again, he hovered over her, gaze dark and sharp.

  Yes. She might have thought she wanted one thing, but what she really wanted—what she needed—was this.

  Finally.

  The itchiness under Dane’s skin was replaced by a cool calm, the rightness of it settling over him as he planted his hands to either side of her head. Staring down at her, his vision snapped into focus, his thoughts going clear and smooth.

  Still, he had to ask.

  “Tell me you’re sure.” Even his voice sounded stronger than it had just a moment before.

  “I’m sure.” Her throat bobbed. “Green. I’m so green.”

  Oh Jesus. He’d already been painfully hard, but hearing her go straight to the safe words he had taught her made his blood burn hotter. His skin didn’t itch; it screamed. He needed her. Needed in her and on her and to feel her come apart all around him, and he needed it now.

  “Good girl,” he managed to rasp out. “Condoms?”

  She stared back at him, eyes wide and glazed, flicking a hand toward the side. “Suitcase. Front pouch.”

  Before he left, he leaned over and claimed her mouth the way he’d been dying to all day. Commanding the kiss settled something even deeper in his mind. He let go with a lingering scrape of his teeth across her bottom lip. Grasping her hand, he brought it to her cunt.

  “Keep that warm for me.”

  Trusting her to obey, he rolled off the bed and onto his feet. Fortunately the condoms were exactly where she’d said they’d be. He tore one off the strip he found, unwrapped it, and rolled it down his cock.

  Facing her again, he gave himself one nice, long stroke, then had to grasp the base, squeezing hard as a hot surge of need pulsed through him, shocking in its desperation.

  Shit, but she looked good. Perfectly manicured nails slipping along bare, pink flesh, one finger teasing at her clit while the others kept her spread.

  He wanted to dive right back in, to finish what they’d started when she’d been the one kneeling over him. To show her exactly why he should be the one to make her come—the one telling how and when and why and where. Forever.

  No. No, he wasn’t going there.

  Shaking it off, he stalked over to the bed and kneed his way up onto it. He grabbed her by the ankle and dragged her closer. She gave a little squeal that rolled off into a moan as he took her other leg in hand and spread her out. Abandoning her clit, she slicked her fingertips over her opening, and it might as well have been a written invitation. His mouth watered, her taste still on his lips.

  And he’d been the one to tell her to touch herself, but out of nowhere the very idea of it offended him. Suppressing a growl, he snapped a hand around her wrist, dragged both of them up to pin them over her head, and he would have kept them there, would have tied them there.

  But her eyes flashed just a bit too wide.

  Fear. Fuck. She didn’t like that. Right. He still didn’t know why, either, and it ripped him apart inside.

  Letting go of her hands, he refocused, grabbing for her ankles again. One by one, he set them on his shoulders, sliding his palms down the outsides of her calves until he grasped her by the knees.

  “I’m going to fuck you.”

  “Oh, thank God.” She flexed her wrists, and the sore part inside of him gave another twinge.

  He shook his head, silencing her with a look. “It’s not going to be nice or soft or easy.”

  They’d already gone so far beyond that. For what felt like hours now, he’d been holding himself back, taking only what she wanted to give, and he was used to that, somehow. He was usually a demanding asshole in bed, but in the rest of his life . . .

  He was used to having his desires put at bay. His needs unmet.

  He was accustomed to taking what he could get.

  But he had it all now. He had her panting for it, legs spread, ankles to either side of his head, her sweet little pussy just begging to be filled.

  “Anything doesn’t feel right, you know what to say.” He waited until she nodded before he continued. “You come while I’m fucking you or not at all.”

  At that, a little of the glazed expression faded from her eyes. Yeah, he’d thought that might give her pause. She’d been so close while he’d been eating her out. Over and over, she’d brought herself to the edge, but she hadn’t been able to go over.

  Not like that.

  Now that he was in charge, she would.

  “You hear me?” he asked. “You wait until I after I’m finished, and you’re done. You get to lie there all night a wet, sopping mess, your little cunt all twisted up and dying for it. You’ll be begging for it—”

  “Sir,” she whined.

  “Uh-uh. My rules now, remember.”

  Eyes bright, she took her lip between her teeth. But bless her, she nodded.

  “Good. Now.” Patting her leg, he let go, but she kept it right where it was, and fuck him if that didn’t make him harder. He reached down and took himself in hand, lining up. The wet heat of her parted for him, like she was desperate to get him inside, sucking him in. “Come on my fucking cock.”

  Jesus. He bit down on his tongue at the smooth slide in. She took him so gorgeously, body writhing as he filled her. She was so hot and slick, so ready for it, and he didn’t hesitate. He bottomed out in one stroke, going nice and deep. He paused there for only a second before pulling back.

  Leaning forward, he all but bent her in half, dropping to plant one hand on the mattress while he kept the other clasped firmly around her thigh.

  “You need this,” he murmured. “Need to be fucked like this. Need someone to throw you down and take you out of your head.”

  It was the same damn conversation they’d been having since their first time on the plane. Why the hell was he still having it? Just like she had back then, she shook her head, protests on her lips, but he bit them away, silencing whatever she might say with his tongue.

  Hot, male pride filled him, spurring him on. Pistoning his hips, he fucked in harder, the wet sounds of sex filling the room as his hips met the backs of her thighs again and again.

  “You do.” Because hadn’t they just proved that? She’d tried it the other way, and she’d gotten half of what she did from giving in. From submitting. “You want it. Your whole body is dying for it. You want to be taken. Tell me it isn’t true.”

  But she was mute, mouth open, pleasure written on every inch of her face.

  “You need it. You do.”

  Suddenly, he was the one who was desperate. He’d never pretended not to need this—the rush of
power and the heat of a woman’s body beneath his. The ultimate high of her trust, and Lexie trusted him. She had to.

  Skidding his palm down her thigh, he slotted his thumb over her clit, and she sobbed. The roaring in his ears and in his cock were deafening, all his will bent to this moment, to proving—

  She broke on a scream, twisting into it, and fuck, her pussy was a vise. It squeezed down hard, throbbing pulses that had his balls rising, his blood singing.

  He gave her this. No one else. She couldn’t take it for herself, but he could do this. He could be this for her.

  For himself.

  The last shudder of her climax brought a fresh rush of wetness between them, another round of clenching. In the slick glide, he quickened his thrusts, took her harder, until all at once, the darkness flowed to meet him.

  He emptied himself into her with all the power in his body. The spasms racked him for what felt like ages. He buried himself deep, mouth falling open, every muscle in his body tensing at once.

  And then relaxing.

  When he came to, he’d all but collapsed over top of her. With a kiss to her hair, he dragged himself up, pulling out with a soft twinge of regret before plopping down on the mattress beside her.

  Well. That hadn’t exactly been how he’d expected their siesta to go. He couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

  But as he gazed back at her, taking in the floored expression on her face, the slack, wet set of her mouth, he couldn’t lose himself to the afterglow, either.

  He nudged her side. “You all right?”

  She blinked, tilting her head to look at him. Her eyes were hazy, but she wasn’t completely gone. Which was good. If he had to wait for her to come up too far, he’d lose his nerve.

  “Hmm?” Her lids fluttered a couple more times, her gaze clearing. “Yeah. Fine.”

  There was an uneasiness beneath the layers of satisfaction. It only made him more convinced.

  “Good.” Instinct drove him to move, to get going, to not drag this out any longer. He clenched his hand into a fist, forcing himself to slow down. Leaning forward, he brushed a gentle kiss across her lips. “Take all the time you need. But when you’re ready, get dressed.” He swallowed hard. “We need to talk.”

  chapter FIFTEEN

  Lexie kept fiddling with the fabric of the tablecloth.

  They’d ended up in an actual, proper restaurant as opposed to another tapas bar. The place was nice enough, but there was a darkness to the atmosphere that had her all off-kilter.

  Or maybe that was just the impending sense of doom.

  She rolled her eyes at herself and refocused on her menu. How many business dinners had she conducted, every one with millions—if not billions—of dollars at stake? She was calm, cool, and collected under pressure.

  Only this was different. It wasn’t just a series of numbers in the company’s ledger. It was her life. It was the best thing to happen to her in a very, very long time.

  And that right there should have been enough to raise her guard. She’d tried, too. Back at the museum, she’d gotten a glimpse of how important Dane was becoming to her. He’d reassured her after Evan had pissed her off, and it had felt so right. She’d been so tempted to lean into him, to let go the way he’d been asking her to all along.

  So instead she’d pulled away. Tried to pull rank, even. Instead of letting him take care of her, she’d tried to control things, and every moment had grated against the terrified place inside of her that had gotten a taste of freedom in his arms. It hadn’t worked.

  Not until she’d given in. After a hundred false starts, it turned out all she had to do was hand him the reins. She’d come with a force that had stolen her breath away, her thoughts clear and her body singing with the rightness of giving in to him.

  And now he wanted to talk.

  Ugh.

  Forcing herself to let go of the tablecloth, she moved for her glass of wine instead. A little bit of the fog of sex still hung around her, but it was overshadowed by dread. She wanted to shout at him to just spit it out already, whatever it was he needed to say.

  If he was done with this, she could handle it. She was good at that. Good at picking up the pieces, good at moving on. God knew she had enough experience.

  Instead, she held her tongue. Flipped one more time through the menu, even though she’d already decided.

  Thank God their waitress finally came by to take their order. Lexie opened her mouth, only for a warm, broad hand to settle on her knee.

  “Allow me,” Dane said.

  She blinked. Excuse me? But before she could find the words to protest, he was already speaking in rapid-fire Spanish, the waitress responding just as incomprehensibly.

  “But,” she managed.

  With a look, he silenced her again, and the impending doom hanging over her head twisted and morphed. It climbed down her throat and into her lungs, leaving her speechless.

  Nobody told her what to do. He might have managed it in bed, but here, out in the world . . .

  A tingle of excitement lit her breast.

  And left her even more confused than she’d been when they’d begun.

  Her tongue didn’t seem to come unglued until the waitress nodded and closed her notepad, shooting Lexie a raised eyebrow before walking away. A slithering, hot sort of humiliation flooded Lexie’s cheeks, but it also flooded lower, making her breasts draw tighter. She shifted her thighs and straightened her spine.

  “What the hell was that?”

  “That was a quick test to see how you felt about submission in public.” He said it so casually, unwrapping his napkin and flicking it to drape across his lap. “Kind of a dick move, honestly. Should have asked you if it was a limit for you first, but it was expedient to do it this way.”

  Her head spun. Limits? Submission? They weren’t foreign concepts, but they weren’t overly familiar ones, either. Certainly not ones she’d throw out so offhandedly.

  She glanced around the small, dimly lit room, but no one was paying them any attention. Even if they were, English seemed to be a weaker second language here than it had been in most of the European cities she had visited. This conversation was about as safe as it could be, considering.

  So she didn’t lower her voice, but it came out soft regardless, without the edge of steel she had intended. “And do you have any interest in my opinion on the matter?”

  “A little.” He raised his wineglass to his sultry, full lips and took a sip. “Pretty sure I can figure it out for myself, though.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It turns you on.”

  God, she wanted to deny it. But her mouth went dry, her words all gone again.

  Leaning forward, he set down his glass. “Which brings us to what we need to talk about.”

  She squirmed. “Okay . . .”

  “How much do you actually know about BDSM?”

  It was a good thing she hadn’t chosen that moment to eat or drink. Her throat vapor-locked, full seconds passing by while she did her best impersonation of a fish as she tried to recover.

  They’d talked about this before, if only obliquely. Before he’d admitted to finding his release in hiking and bungee jumping, he’d allowed her to believe that kinky sex was how he escaped from a job and a life that didn’t always fit him. He was good enough at giving orders that it hadn’t been difficult to swallow.

  Still. Bringing it up, here, like this. It gave her pause.

  With a deep breath, she put some steel in her spine and met his gaze. “I’ve played around with a set of handcuffs before, if that’s what you’re trying to ask.”

  The false bravado rattled around in her chest. It was the worst example she could have used.

  He didn’t miss it, either. “And what did you think of it?”

  Instinct told her not to show weakness, for all that she’d already shown him far too much. “Not my favorite thing, but it was all right.”

  “Not your favorite.” He narrowed his eyes like he
could see clear through her.

  “I didn’t like it. The . . . the handcuffs part.” Back in college, one of her boyfriends had suggested it, and they’d tried it both ways. Tying him up had been a bit of a thrill, but it hadn’t exactly been life-changing. His attempt to do the same to her had left her a tangled mess inside, uncomfortable in ways she couldn’t explain.

  Cold.

  Jordan had suggested it at some point, too. Not taking no for an answer, he’d poked at her reluctance like a sore tooth until finally she’d given in. What had followed had probably been the worst sex she’d had in her life.

  Dane tilted his head to the side. “What about it?”

  “I don’t know. Just . . .” Just what? She didn’t like not having choices. Being dependent on another person. She’d never trusted anyone enough not to walk away and leave her helpless, with no way out. Alone.

  A shiver racked her frame, shaking her to her bones.

  “I—” She swallowed hard. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Not about the twisting, squirming feeling in her gut. About the way Jordan had stood over her, looking like he’d gotten what he wanted at last, and it wasn’t her. Not really.

  Dane gazed at her for a long moment. “A hard limit then, for now.”

  “What—?”

  “Something you don’t budge on. We can renegotiate if you want, but never during a scene. You change your mind and you have to bring it up.”

  It was like a weight coming off her shoulders. “And you’re okay with that?”

  No needling? No offhand remarks about how unreasonable she was being until it was easier to just say yes already than to deal with all the bullshit . . .

  He looked at her as if she had three heads. Leaning forward, he placed his hand on the table. His whole body was coiled, all power and certitude. “Listen to me. If you ever play with anyone else in the future.” He worked his jaw, his voice rough, like he’d been chewing on glass. “Here’s the first rule. Never, ever let anyone disrespect your hard limits. Any asshole tries, and you walk, understand?”

  On the one hand, she hated that he was giving her advice on sleeping with other people.