Crave

by Sierra Cartwright

  In response, she licked the last dollop of fresh whipped cream from her finger.

  Shaking his head, he said, “Well, that showed me the evolution of this relationship.”

  “The evolved Sarah won’t be consumed by a Dom. Nor will she let him eat her dessert.”

  He nodded.

  “But she does need to work off some calories.”

  He stood and offered a hand. “I have an idea or two about that.”

  She smiled, a cheeky, seductive secret just between them, and said, “I’m counting on it, Sir.”

  * * * *

  Dozens of people milled in the lobby, most of them in small groups. Signs pointed the way to the party and even from here, Sarah could hear the sound of a DJ blasting a 1950s dance tune.

  Servers passed by with trays of champagne, others canapés. Still others offered obscenely big chocolate-covered strawberries. Reece stopped a woman bearing key lime bites.

  “This time, I’m not sharing,” he said, popping it into his mouth.

  She waited for his reaction. When he raised his eyebrows, she asked, “See why I didn’t share? It’s kind of like an orgasm for the taste buds.”

  “I understand.” He grabbed a second from the retreating woman.

  “Now who needs to work off some calories?” she teased.

  “It’s a problem we should solve together.”

  Maybe because of the wine, or perhaps because of their forthright conversations and new-found conviction, or because of the frenetic atmosphere, the fact that she wore a necklace proclaiming she was his, or the butt plug shifting inside her, she had more energy than she’d had in years. It churned inside her, driving her.

  The DJ said a few words then the unmistakable sound of an Otis Redding ballad spilled from the ballroom.

  “I love that song. Can we dance?” Without waiting for a response, she snagged his wrist and started to lead him toward the dance floor.

  “Hold up, Sarah.”

  She stopped and exhaled.

  “Let’s try this a different way,” he said, leaning down toward her so that she could hear him.

  “A different way?”

  “I’m still the Dom.” His tone sent an illicit thrill down her spine.

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” she said.

  “May I have this dance with my lovely submissive?”

  She’d always adored his manners, and the way he managed to seduce her without ever touching her. “Thank you, Sir. Yes.”

  He placed his fingers in the small of her back. His touch felt possessive and simultaneously reassuring.

  At the front of the room, a stage had been erected, and big screens flanked it. Pictures of Julien, his friends, previous parties and, of course, his spacecraft-looking headquarters scrolled past.

  Two separate areas with food and beverages had been set up. A tiered fountain was the focal point, and pink bubbly liquid frothed over the layers. No doubt it was filled with the finest sparkling wine available on the planet.

  On the dance floor, Reece pulled Sarah against him. “I’ll dance with you any time, all night,” he said against her ear.

  She allowed her body to meld with his.

  “I like any excuse to have you in my arms,” he said.

  She looked up and wrapped her arms around his neck. In this moment, as long as she pretended there was no past and no goodbye looming tomorrow morning, her life couldn’t be more perfect.

  He moved one hand lower, onto her buttocks. “How’s the plug?”

  She felt scandalized, even though no one was looking at them. “I can definitely feel it.”

  He skimmed his fingers lower, between her buttocks, until he felt the glass.

  “Sir,” she protested.

  He pushed on it, and she stood up a little taller.

  “I should have insisted on this years ago.”

  His continual sensuous onslaught was driving her crazy.

  The song transitioned to one with a more upbeat tempo.

  Reece led her into a two-step. During the time they’d been together, they’d danced often enough that she effortlessly followed him. “You’ve still got it,” she said with a wide grin.

  He raised his hand and she spun beneath it before he closed her into a basket move. She grinned when he moved in for a quick kiss.

  When the song ended, she said, “You made an excellent choice with this dress. I love it.”

  The way he looked at her, she knew he was thinking about getting her out of it. Her insides turned molten in response to his sultry look.

  They moved over to join Kennedy and a man she vaguely recognized. With their vibrantly colored athletic shoes in an ocean of loafers and wingtips, the two men had captured her attention from across the room.

  “He got you into a pair, as well?” Reece commiserated with the unknown man.

  “Better than spending the whole night listening to him brag about how comfortable his feet are.”

  “What do you think of them?” Kennedy asked.

  “I’ll take stock,” Reece replied.

  “Why not white or black?” Sarah asked.

  “Because they wouldn’t be as obvious,” Kennedy said. “These make a statement.”

  “That you’re color-blind?” she asked.

  “I’ll send you some as soon as the women’s line is released. You’ll be doing my PR for free.”

  “Right. I’ll travel the world and take pictures in various locations. I’ll post them on social media.”

  Reece snagged a glass of bubbly from a nearby server and he raised an eyebrow toward her.

  “I’d love one. Thank you, Sir,” she said aware that all the men were watching her. Gawking was probably a more accurate word.

  “You do know Grant?” Reece asked.

  “Actually, I’ve never met him,” she said. “I saw pictures at your house.”

  “Grant Kingston. Sarah Lovett.”

  His eyes went wide. After the way she’d been treated by Julien and Kennedy, she should have been prepared for that reaction, but it still stung. Her smile faded. “Pleased to meet you,” she said, the words ringing false in her ears. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” That part, at least, was true.

  “You as well. Not all of it is good. Does that necklace have any significance?” he asked.

  He hadn’t offered his hand to shake. She felt as if an Arctic front had dropped down her spine.

  Instantly Reece put his hand on her shoulder, in reassurance.

  “Forgive him,” Kennedy said. “He lives in a cave in New Mexico. Doesn’t get out often enough to remember he’s supposed to observe social niceties.”

  “He’s only asking what you’re wondering,” she said. “If the question is, did Reece forgive me and take me back? The answer is no.”

  Reece tightened his grip. The touch was both reassuring and a warning.

  “For the weekend, I claimed this woman,” Reece said. “She’s mine. She recognizes it, and I have no problem with letting others know it.”

  “No offense meant,” Grant said, raising his drink, something in a highball glass, toward Reece.

  “If I were his friend, I’d hate me, too.”

  “It’s not you we dislike,” Kennedy answered. “It’s just your behavior we question. I’m a bit of an optimist. I wonder if there were extenuating circumstances.”

  “You should have gone to law school,” Reece remarked.

  “I think you’re on my side, Kennedy.” Sarah shot him a grateful smile.

  “No one is, really,” Kennedy responded. “We give a shit about Reece and want him to be happy.”

  Her smile faded.

  “If you make him happy, fine with me. But I’m looking after my own self-interests.” Kennedy shrugged. “I can’t afford to keep him in Scotch.”

  With an entourage worthy of a rock star, Julien walked into the room. He held up a hand, signaling everyone to stop, then he brushed a couple of ladies’ hands from his forearm and walked away from the sm
all crowd.

  “Purple shoes?” Reece asked when Julien joined them.

  “The color of royalty,” he said.

  “Let me take a picture?” Sarah suggested. She was glad she was no longer the focus of the conversation. To Reece she added, “Buy your stock before we post this photo.”

  At her direction, they lined up. She took several shots with her cell phone camera before saying, “Okay, ham it up. Show some leg.”

  “Christ, no,” Kennedy protested. “No one will buy my shoes if they see Julien’s scrawny legs.”

  “With all those shoes, I don’t even need the flash,” she said. From what Reece had said earlier, it wasn’t often that the four of them managed to get together, and their shared history made her feel like an outsider.

  “Are the shots any good?” Julien asked.

  She showed him the pictures, then promised to email them later.

  A woman, tall, gorgeous and blonde, joined the group. Her heels were at least three inches, and with her already-impressive height, she was taller than Julien and Kennedy. Her arms were toned in a way that demonstrated she could probably bench press any of the men in attendance.

  “Excuse the interruption,” she said, with the faintest trace of an accent Sarah had difficulty pinpointing.

  Some part of Eastern Europe, maybe.

  “You can interrupt anything you want, any time you want,” Grant said, stepping to one side. “For any reason.”

  “You are too kind, Mr Kingston. I do hope you managed some sleep this afternoon.”

  “Passed out,” he said.

  To Julien, she said, “The emcee is looking for you, Mr Bonds.”

  “May I introduce Svetlana Starova,” Julien said.

  The woman inclined her head. “Delighted,” she said, but she didn’t make any attempt to meet anyone. “If you’ll excuse us, I’ll return Mr Bonds to you later.”

  “She runs a tight ship,” Reece observed after Julien and Svetlana had excused themselves.

  Kennedy whistled. “Holy hell. It’s a wonder you survived, Grant.”

  “I might have had a cardiomegaly,” he said with a goofy grin. “Luckily, in addition to being the world’s best pilot, she’s also trained in first aid.”

  Sarah shook her head. How was it that grown, successful men became teenagers again when a beautiful woman showed up?

  “You have the same effect on me,” Reece told her, as if he’d read her mind.

  She leaned into him and savored the way he tightened his grip.

  “Especially with that necklace and knowing the plug is moving inside you.”

  How could his words make her think of nothing but sex?

  “How do your nipples feel when the dress moves?”

  “A little tender.”

  “Should one of us offer a toast?” Kennedy suggested.

  Grant blanched. “You’re welcome to do it.”

  “You’ve gotta get out of that cave more,” Kennedy said. “Show off your pretty face.”

  “Svetlana can pry me out.”

  Before they made a decision, the ballroom lights were turned off.

  “Should have figured he’d have it all worked out,” Reece said.

  “Control freak,” Kennedy added.

  The gathered crowd hushed. Spotlights hit the stage, illuminating Julien and the emcee, a pop star that even Sarah recognized. The emcee thanked everyone for coming and wished Julien a happy birthday.

  “Please join me in singing happy birthday, to a very special birthday boy,” the starlet invited.

  Reece moved Sarah in front of him and wrapped her in his arms. More keenly than ever, she wished that the relationship between them was real.

  As the gathered crowd began the song, a cake was wheeled onto the stage. It stood at least six feet tall. On the second mention of the word ‘you’, the top exploded off and a woman wriggled through the opening, dressed in the blue and white cheerleading outfit of a popular football team. She wore white, knee-high boots and an itty bitty vest with a fringe that drew attention to her bare midriff. She shook her pom-poms in Julien’s direction.

  The crowd cheered.

  As if on cue, another cheerleader bounded up the stairs and onto the stage.

  Over the course of the song, it appeared that the entire squad joined in.

  “Your rumor was right,” she shouted to Reece.

  On the big screens, the same cheerleaders could be seen performing a routine in front of Julien’s headquarters.

  As the song ended, another cake was wheeled onto the stage. The thing was a work of art, and it was designed to look like the first smartphone he’d developed, the one that had made him a multimillionaire before he was twenty-two. Fondant icons with decorative icing represented some of the apps that had been developed for the device. Sparklers on top looked a bit like antennae.

  The cheerleaders gathered around him and shook their pom-poms and their asses while he blew out the sparklers.

  The pop star led a rendition of For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow while the cake was removed from the stage.

  Julien gave a brief speech, inviting everyone to enjoy themselves and thanking them for sharing the event.

  The cheerleaders separated and moved into the crowd as the pop star performed a song that had hit number one in the charts.

  “He knows how to entertain,” Kennedy said.

  “Indeed,” Reece agreed. “I find I’m anxious to spend time alone with Sarah,” he said. “Kennedy, give me a call the first part of the week. I want to talk to you about investments and Sarah’s business.”

  She exhaled. She’d believed that he hadn’t been interested in what she’d had to say earlier. But he’d been listening, like he always had, and thinking.

  Over the thundering bass and the singer’s reverberating voice, he made their excuses.

  “Stairs,” he told her.

  “We’re on the ninth floor,” she protested thinking about her heels and the plug.

  He linked their hands together and drew her past the bank of elevators and into the stairwell.

  On the landing between the first and second floors, he pushed her against the wall.

  “I couldn’t wait.”

  His eyes were dark with desire, and lust simmered in his tone.

  She couldn’t object, wouldn’t object. She wanted this man. And she knew time was running out. “Yes,” she told him.

  Reece plunged a hand inside her dress and closed it around one of her breasts. Her nipple hardened and her knees weakened. “Harder,” she told him.

  He pinched her nipple until she gritted her teeth.

  “Is your pussy getting wet, little sub?”

  “My pussy’s been wet all night, Sir,” she responded.

  “Show me.”

  She lifted her dress.

  “I like your bare pussy,” he said, sliding his fingers across the smooth skin.

  “I like having your fingers there,” she admitted.

  Before she was ready, he moved his hand up.

  The plunging V of the dress’s neckline made it possible for him to move the material aside so he could suck on one nipple while he squeezed the other.

  She closed her eyes.

  His attention was delicious torment. He’d been listening when she’d said how much she liked nipple stimulation.

  “I want to be fucked,” she said.

  He continued to suck as he moved one hand between her legs and plunged his fingers inside her wet cunt.

  “Damn, Reece…” She grabbed hold of his head, keeping him close.

  He abraded her clit with a fingernail then fucked her pussy with three fingers. The sensation, combined with the pressure from the plug, brought her to the brink of an orgasm. “I’m going to come, Reece.”

  In response, he bit her nipple.

  She screamed, and the sound echoed off the concrete.

  Sarah heard a door open, followed by the words, “Everything okay?”

  “Svetlana,” Reece wh
ispered.

  Sarah nodded. “Fine,” she called out.

  The door closed.

  She put back her head and fought to control her racing pulse. Between the fear of being seen and the climax, that wasn’t easy.

  “Nice to be amongst friends,” Reece said. “Now where were we?”

  “What?” she demanded. “We should go upstairs.”

  “We will. But you’re going to give me another orgasm first. Cup your breasts and push them together.”

  She met his gaze.

  He gave her a tight nod. For incentive, he began to move his fingers in and out of her pussy.

  “We could do this in your room.”

  “But we are going to do it right here. Hurry. Before we get caught.”

  The risk added to the tension and the desire. She drew her breasts together.

  “Pinch your left nipple.”

  “It’s a little tender from the way you sucked it,” she objected.

  “Do it.”

  Keeping her breasts together, she used her thumb and forefinger to squeeze her nipple as he closed his mouth around the other.

  This time he finger-fucked her harder, faster than he had before.

  She overheated. The way she thrashed her head dislodged the clip, plummeting it toward the concrete. “Hurts,” she told him. But she wanted it. “Good.”

  He sucked harder.

  With his fingers, he found her G-spot, and she whimpered.

  He continued relentlessly, until her vision blurred.

  “Sir? Sir!”

  Blood thundered. Then he bit her.

  Sarah buried her scream against his jacket, her eyes closed and silent sobs shaking her.

  “That’s it. That’s it.”

  He cradled her, tucking her under his chin.

  Shamelessly, she accepted the support he offered, the same support he’d wanted to spend a lifetime offering her.

  “Was that enough nipple stimulation?”

  “Is this your subtle way of telling me to be careful what I ask for?”

  “Not at all. It was a blatant way of giving you what you want.”

  “Thank you,” she said, looking up and reaching to trace the back of her hand down his cheekbone.

  “Now,” he said, releasing her and straightening her dress, “let’s go back to the room. You can give me a demonstration of downward dog, and I’ll throw in an interesting variation.”