His Sword

by Holly Hart

  But I won’t.

  I’ve got something more… delicate in mind.

  I take a deep breath as I stare at her – almost – naked body. Skye follows my gaze, and then looks down at her bra. She makes a move – almost as if she’s getting ready to undo it.

  I shake my head. “Don’t,” I say. “I like the way it looks on you.”

  Skye nods, slowly, looking entranced by what I’m about to do.

  She’s right to be.

  I reach forward, and slowly tug the black lace panties down Skye’s legs. I leave them around her ankles, just resting there, tickling the skin.

  Skye gasps as the cool air of her office kisses her pussy. She squeezes her eyes shut, almost as if she’s embarrassed by what I’m seeing.

  “Don’t be,” I say, offering no explanation. Then I lean forward, scrape my fingernails down her thigh, push her legs apart and kiss her in her most sensitive spot.

  Now Skye really gasps.

  I can’t help myself any longer. I push Skye’s legs as wide apart as they will go, and then I dive in. My tongue drops to her slit, and I lick it from bottom to top. Skye moans and her head drops back, but I don’t stop. This is just the start of the delights I have planned for this perfect woman.

  “By the time I’m done with you, Skye,” I growl, offering a running commentary. “You’re not going to know what week it is, let alone the day.”

  Skye moans under my renewed attention, then – from somewhere – summons the strength to look at me. Her voice is broken from panting pleasure. “I don’t want to know the year,” she says.

  Challenge accepted.

  I stroke my index finger down Skye’s slit, marveling at how wet she is. If I didn’t know that she’s never been sent over the edge before, I wouldn’t have believed it. The way she’s responding to my body, it’s like she’s more attuned to her own pleasure than any girl I’ve ever known.

  My finger enters Skye’s pussy, and I bury it to the knuckle. Skye moans and I know that by now she’s lost in her own perfect blackness.

  I rest my free hand on Skye’s hip, and put my tongue to work, nibbling and lapping and sucking at her most sensitive spot.

  I feel the way she bucks underneath me, riding the pleasure. I write the alphabet with my tongue, concentrating, and then – like I’m playing a musical instrument – I hone in on that one, pure note.

  “Oh my God,” Skye chokes, “Harlan –!”

  I go for as long as I can, until my jaw cramps with exhaustion, and Skye’s body is decorated with a sheen of sweat.

  Skye bucks her hips forward, and presses her slit against my mouth, as if begging me, daring me to give her the orgasm she’s so desperate for. I try, I try harder than I ever have, I try until Skye’s fingernails leave deep scores on my scalp.

  But nothing works.

  Slowly, Skye’s body succumbs to exhaustion. I want to cry out, to beg her not to stop – to force her to keep going, to give herself in to the waves of pleasure I’m throwing her way.

  But she’s exhausted, spent. Her muscles are screaming out in protest, her body slick with sweat.

  You were so damn close!

  “Harlan,” Skye whispers, as she digs her fingers through my hair and drags me up her body so I can kiss her roughly on the mouth. “That was… incredible,” she says, shaking her head with amazement. “I didn’t know it could feel that good!”

  “I’m not done,” I say. I’m determined to tip Skye over, no matter what it takes. It’s like my own personal Everest.

  Skye grins, an amused smile tickling her lips. She leans forward and kisses me once again, and her intoxicating smell mixes with the taste of her juices.

  “Yes. Yes you are,” she says softly, “for tonight, anyway.”

  I’m smoldering with disappointment. I’d really – truly – thought that tonight was the night that I was going to be the answer to Skye’s wildest dreams.

  Yet I failed.

  Skye shakes her head, almost as though she’s reading my mind.

  “No, Harlan,” she says softly. “You took me closer than any man has. You’re going to be the one to give me an orgasm, I know it. I just wasn’t quite ready. Not tonight.”

  I tip my head back and groan. In the excitement of thinking I was about to give Skye the fireworks she deserves, I forgot how horny I was. My cock feels like a volcano, ready to blow.

  Skye notices. She glances down at the bulge in my pants – almost nervously, as if she’s worried what she might find.

  “Don’t tempt me,” I growl, sighing heavily and pulling away. “Tomorrow it is. But I’ll promise you one thing, Skye – I’m not coming until you are.”

  I mean it. I’m not going to allow myself to orgasm – not until I find a way for Skye to share in the pleasure.

  Which means I’ve got a problem. A really big fucking problem.

  Because if there’s one thing I don’t know how to handle, it’s denying myself anything. At all.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Skye

  I can’t take my mind off of what happened yesterday. In one night – just a few minutes, really – Harlan took me closer to that elusive, long-promised, orgasm than any man ever has. For the first time in a long time, he’s got me believing that I really could experience that kind of nirvana.

  I just hope that it’s not a false dawn. I don’t know if I would be able to take crashing back to reality after Harlan has built me up this far.

  “Down, girl,” I mutter to myself, clearing my head. I realize that I’ve been in the office an hour already, and all I’ve done is stare blankly into space contemplating what happened in this very room just a few hours ago.

  Heck, I’ve got goose bumps on my skin just thinking about it.

  The things Harlan did with his tongue…

  I didn’t know they were possible. I didn’t know a man could make me feel that way, especially when all the attentions I’ve, uh, administered to myself have failed…

  … Over and over…

  … And over again …

  No matter what toy I tried…

  But Harlan was good – unbelievably good. No man has ever pleased me like he did last night. It’s almost like someone trained him in the dark arts of going down on a woman.

  Maybe he learned it while in the SEALs?

  I picture a room full of hard, unshaved men sitting behind tiny school desks. Their faces are painted with dark camouflage paint, their bodies dripping wet from a long swim. Rifles lean against the walls, and the odd hand grenade spins lazily on the floor.

  Looking closely, every single SEAL is waggling their tongue in the air, performing complicated maneuvers with the pink organ – one second spelling an imaginary alphabet, the next performing long, lazy strokes on an imaginary clitoris.

  I snort, almost knocking a cup of coffee on my desk over in the process. A second later, I’m consumed by a fit of uncontrollable giggles. I can’t control either them or myself. I collapse forward against my desk, chest heaving as I try to hold back the laughter.

  My office door clicks open, and Tyler anxiously pokes his head around.

  “Is everything all right, Skye?” He asks.

  “Everything’s –,” I snort, “fine, Tyler. Just something I… read.”

  My assistant frowns and squints at me, as if he thinks I’ve gone crazy.

  In a way, I guess I have. I remember reading once in med school that in the olden days, doctors used to coax their female patients to orgasm after diagnosing them with “hysteria”. Hell, that was why the vibrator was invented…

  Maybe they were right… maybe there really is only so long a woman can go without experiencing that kind of pleasure before they “lose it” and become “hysterical”.

  But I don’t need a dainty, white-coated doctor. I’ve got my Navy SEAL.

  He’s not your anything, Skye. But if he can prescribe you an orgasm then, girl, take him and run!

  Besides, I’d bet any money that doctors back then
were simply taking advantage of their patients…

  “Skye?” Tyler questions, looking yet more concerned.

  “Sorry, I was in my own world,” I mutter, mastering my face. “Did you say something?”

  “You didn’t hear? I got –,” he pauses, as though he’s confused. “I got a strange message from Mr. Wolfe’s office.”

  My ears prick up. “Mr. Wolfe?” I say, pretending as though I’m surprised. “What does he want with me?”

  Tyler shrugs. “His assistant said something about expanding your sessions with the traders? I guess he wants to discuss that. You want me to come with you to take notes?”

  The expression on Tyler’s face suggests that there’s anywhere he would rather be. I don’t blame him. If I hadn’t had Harlan’s face between my legs last night, I would be as wary as him about an unexpected summons from the CEOs office.

  But I did have his head between my legs… and it felt damn good.

  I flush, realizing that Tyler’s still staring at me questioningly, and my cheeks burn with hidden embarrassment.

  “Wait,” I say, replaying Tyler’s statement in my head. “Where am I going?”

  Tyler shrugs for a second time. “No idea. I just got told there’s a car waiting for you downstairs.”

  My mind goes into overdrive. This is strange. I thought Harlan wanted to keep this thing between us a secret – and yet he may as well be broadcasting this affair to the entire world!

  “Um,” I stammer, buying time to think.

  I picture what Harlan plans to do to me – and maybe me to him – wherever we’re going. There’s no way I can expose Tyler to a scene like that…

  “You know what, Tyler, you stay here. I’ll ring you if I need anything. How about we go with that plan?”

  Tyler nods hurriedly, visibly relaxing, and returns to his desk. I think fast, realizing that if the car’s waiting for me, then I don’t have long.

  I grab my laptop case, throw a couple of bits and bobs inside it, and then grab Harlan’s file from the cabinet.

  I open it up, noticing that it’s still pretty bare. The things I don’t know about my boss – and lover? – outnumber the things I do know by a thousand fold.

  I make a note of his military service, and remind myself to get to the bottom of what happened to him out there. The more I think about it, the more I’ve decided that whatever he experienced shaped his personality – his ambition, and his overwhelming need for dominance and control.

  I wave goodbye to Tyler, plunge down Wolfe Capital’s skyscraper in the elevator at stomach-turning speed, and walk out of the lobby and into a raucous Manhattan street. The smell of burnt fuel and sizzling hot dogs fills the air.

  I don’t even wait a minute before a smartly dressed driver – the man who delivered the thousand-dollar cocktail dress to me before my first date with Harlan – catches my eye.

  “Miss Warren?” He says hurriedly, his leather soles clicking on the sidewalk as he approaches me.

  “That’s me,” I smile, hiding a broader one as I realize the man’s face reddening slightly. I wonder if he’s remembering me telling him I was only wearing a towel the first time we “met”.

  “We better hurry,” the driver says, flushing. I think he knows what I’m thinking… “The boss doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  The limousine winds its way out of the city, and pulls up outside a private airfield just north of Manhattan. For some reason, I get a slightly uneasy feeling when my eyes pass across a sign that reads: “Teterboro Airport”.

  I wind down the privacy divider – feeling a thrill despite my concern. This is the life! I pull up short before starting to talk, realizing I don’t know who I’m actually talking to.

  “Um, sorry – I didn’t catch your name.” I say.

  “Stan,” he replies, glancing up at the rearview mirror. “How can I help you, Miss Warren?”

  “Where am I going, Stan?” I ask, raising my voice slightly to drown out the engine noise from a private jet taking off overhead. “No one told me I was going to be taking a plane ride today. And call me Skye.”

  Stan’s shoulders jerk up slightly.

  “No idea, Miss –, I mean, Skye. I just go where I’m told.”

  The limousine rocks like a white water raft as it passes over a speed bump, and Stan gently maneuvers the fancy executive car past a couple of security bollards. I drum my foot anxiously against the richly carpeted foot well, and peer out of the windows into a world I never thought I would join.

  Private jets – mostly made by Gulfstream – I think, not that I know my ass from my elbow when it comes to fancy planes – are laid up diagonally, parked almost wing to wing. Yet more noses peek out of gray metal hangers. As little as I know, it’s obvious there must be hundreds of millions of dollars’ worth of planes here – probably more.

  Stan rolls down his driver-side window, shows his credentials, and we’re let out onto the runway itself – or at least, a feeder lane. He drives confidently, as if he’s traveled this path hundreds of times before.

  I begin to wonder whether I’m the first woman that Harlan Wolfe has treated like this, and decide I don’t want to know the answer…

  “This is it, Skye,” he says, slowing and jerking his head at a private jet set apart from the rest. It’s slightly longer, as well – and a gold trim decorates the wings. “That’s Mr. Wolfe’s plane. One of them, anyway.”

  “How many does he have?” I squeak.

  “More than I have cars, that’s for sure,” Stan grunts. He spins the limousine, so that my passenger side almost kisses the waiting jet’s steps, and slows to a halt. The car’s engine cough’s and dies, and in a flash Stan has already exited his door, making for mine.

  “I can do it –”

  Myself, I say in my head as Stan gently pulls my door open and picks up my case. It’s slowly beginning to dawn on me that I’ve entered a completely different universe – a universe where uniformed men drive me around and apparently one in which I fly on private planes!

  “What do I do now?” I asked once I’m standing on the asphalt. I feel completely out of place.

  Stan jerks his head up the steps. “After you, Skye,” he says, casting an anxious look into the jet’s open doorway. He almost seems to choke when he says my name – as if he’s worried someone might note down his informality.

  I climb the steps with leaden legs. It doesn’t feel right, somehow, and yet here I am anyway. A stewardess appears immediately, as if she was waiting for the moment, and greets me with a smile.

  Stan follows close behind and sets my laptop bag down. It’s instantly spirited away. He turns to leave.

  “Stan! Wait…” I stammer.

  “Ma’am?” he replies with a questioning frown. “Anything I can do to help?”

  I let his return to formality slide. I realize that he’s probably just as uncomfortable with this situation as I am. His job was to drive me somewhere, not counsel me about my issues!

  “It doesn’t matter… I half say out loud, half-whisper. “Thanks for the ride.”

  Stan inclines his head and departs.

  What now? I wonder.

  I don’t have to wait long. After just a couple of minutes, the unmistakable clamor of rotor noise washes out over the tiny airport. I don’t pay it any attention at first, but it grows louder and louder, until I’m forced to search out the source.

  I peer out of one of the cabin windows, and almost choke with surprise. A huge helicopter – I couldn’t say what brand – slows to a hover just thirty yards away from the private jet I’m sitting on. The Wolfe Capital branding makes it obvious who the occupant is.

  “You, Skye,” I mutter – vocalizing my nervousness, “are in way over your head.”

  The helicopter sets down, kissing the asphalt skillfully without even making a bump. A second later, Harlan almost jumps out, a perfectly tailored gray suit hugging his frame as though – as I’m sure it was – it was made for him. A man follows behind
him with a couple of suitcases.

  Suitcases! Where the hell am I going?

  And, I hope he packed something for me…

  “Skye!” Harlan exclaims after he’s climbed the stairs. He spreads his arms wide, and his gray eyes glitter on that perfectly chiseled face. He seems – if it’s possible – even more confident than the last time I saw him. “You made it…”

  My cheeks burn as I remember exactly when that was…

  “I wasn’t under the impression,” I mutter. “That I had a choice…”

  “You always have a choice, Skye.” Harlan smiles mischievously. I think – and this is my therapist’s voice talking – that Harlan Wolfe knows exactly what he’s doing to me. He’s taken me here to throw me off balance.

  And it’s working.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “It’s a secret,” Harlan grins back. “But trust me – you’re going to love it.”

  “I have patients, Harlan,” I say, purposefully injecting a little bit of bitchiness into my voice. In truth, it’s hard to stay angry at a man like Harlan. He has a way of ingratiating himself wherever he goes and whoever he sees. And it’s working on me…

  But regardless, I need to let him know that I’m not the kind of woman who lets just anyone push her around.

  Harlan walks toward me, and behind him I see the stewardess stowing his cases and closing the private jet’s door, dragging the stairs in first. Harlan lowers his voice.

  “Have you ever had sex at 30,000 feet,” he asks, purposefully glancing behind him to make sure the stewardess didn’t hear – or maybe to find out whether she did.

  I put my foot down. “I’m not sleeping with you, Harlan.”

  Harlan’s eyebrow jumps. “No?”

  I shake my head grumpily. “No. In fact…” I pause, stalling for time. “In fact we’re going to have a session. What do you think of that?”

  Harlan takes my coldness in his stride.

  He shrugs.