by Meghan March
Every movement is deliberate. He’s making me enjoy something I want to hate, and the bulge pressing against my lower belly tells me he’s enjoying it just as much. That shouldn’t turn me on more, but it does.
“This is the position you’ll take when I spank your ass for your constant bad behavior.” The remark is offhand, but makes me tense regardless.
“You wouldn’t—” I start, but he finishes for me.
“Dare?”
A swat lands against the cheek he cupped, just hard enough to sting before it turns into a heated burn.
“You don’t have a fucking clue what I’d dare when it comes to you.” He hooks a finger into the waistband and drags my thong down my legs, having to tug to release it from between my clasped thighs.
“Are you already wet for me, Keira?” The question is quiet but carries as much power as one of his roared demands.
When I don’t answer right away, he lifts his hips, pressing his hard-on into my belly. There’s no way I can miss the thick length of his cock.
“Because I’m hard for you.”
I suck in a breath, trying to think of anything that will bring me back to center and make me forget how turned on I am right now. The meeting. “I don’t have time for this. We have to hurry.”
His voice is a low growl when he replies. “You’re lucky I want you to make that meeting, or you wouldn’t leave this room today. Torturing you with orgasm denial could easily become a new favorite hobby of mine.”
I keep my lips pressed together this time, assuming that the less I speak, the more quickly we’ll get it over with, even though my body is screaming at me to enjoy every moment.
Two of his fingers slip between my legs, dragging the pads through my soaked slit and brushing over my clit. I squirm in his lap, desperate to either come or for him to let me free, but I know neither is an option.
“You’re so fucking wet for me.”
I want to bite out that it’s not for him, but again, time . . . and the eternal damnation of my soul for lying.
As his fingers play in my wetness, dipping into my opening and tracing around my clit, he murmurs, “You’re finally being good. So submissive while I play with this sweet, soaked pussy.”
I want to argue that I’m anything but submissive, but he flicks my clit and a charge of pleasure shoots through me. That’s when he ups the game, dragging the wetness back toward my ass and lazily dragging a finger around it, coating it with my own slickness. He presses a single finger against the forbidden hole with the lightest pressure, and I tense.
“Relax. I have every intention of making sure you crave this.”
His words carry a promise, and I’m terrified that he’s going to be proven right. He repeats the process with another finger, the lightest pressure, and my hips press harder against his thighs.
“You can pretend you don’t like it, but you love how I play with this tight virgin asshole as much as you loved the way I fucked you on the table last night.”
I can’t deny it. I’ve reached the point where words aren’t an option, and if I open my mouth, the only thing that’s going to come out is a moan. Besides, if he can make it not hurt when he pushes that plug into my ass, I’m not going to argue. I have retained some small sense of self-preservation.
He switches hands, reaching between my legs to press a long, thick finger into my pussy, fucking it in and out until I’m writhing against him.
He tries a second finger, but the tight channel resists before they both slide in. “It’s hard to believe my fat cock fits in this tight little cunt.”
I lose track of time as he lazily finger-fucks me and teases my clit. I’m a slave to his deep voice telling me all the dirty things he wants to do to me, and the pleasure he delivers as he does it.
“You’re lucky I don’t care that you’re creaming all over my pants. You’re making a mess, Keira.” He lowers his head to speak directly into my ear. “Actually, I fucking love it.”
I’m beyond the point of shame. I’m as much a willing party to everything that’s happening right now as I have been to anything in my life. I want to come so badly that I’ve lost sight of everything but the goal.
“Please.” It’s a whisper, and at first I don’t realize it’s coming from me.
“That word on your lips.” He presses hard on my clit before pushing two fingers inside me again. “It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard you say. Except maybe the way you moaned as your pussy clamped down on my cock as you came last night.”
His hand never leaves my center, teasing my entrance and my clit and pushing inside until I’m ready to beg again—but that’s when something cool drizzles down my crack and I tense.
“Shhh. It’s just lube. I’m going to finger your virgin asshole next, and you’re going to love it as much as when I do this.” He presses down on my clit, triggering the orgasm that’s been building inside me since he started this dangerous game.
Waves of ecstasy wash over me as Mount circles my asshole, adding more pressure with each motion, but he never stops strumming my clit. My brain is divided, unable to keep up with the pleasure and fear at the same time.
“Let me in, Keira. Give me this ass.”
Another orgasm builds and when I relax, he breaches the tight ring of muscle with his fingertip. It feels massive. Nerve endings that I never knew existed spring to life, and I stiffen again, pushing him out.
“Don’t you fucking keep me out of your ass. I own it, I will fuck it, and goddammit, you will let me in.”
My second orgasm bursts through me, and his finger pushes all the way inside the virgin hole he’s already claimed as his. I’m still riding the waves of pleasure as he pushes it in and out, and I writhe against him, not sure if I’m chasing the pressure against my clit or my ass. Honestly, I don’t want to know.
When he pulls his finger free, the fabric of his suit coat brushes over my ass. I know he’s reaching for the plug on the table, and once again, I freeze.
“You can take it, Keira. It’s nowhere near as thick as my cock, and barely thicker than my finger. And not only can you take this plug, you’re going to love having your ass filled until I tell you to take it out.”
I don’t want to believe his words, but the dark seduction in them is more than I can handle. His right hand resumes its teasing of my pussy and clit as he presses the end of the plug against my tightest hole.
“You’re about to learn what it feels like to have both holes filled at the same time.” He slides a finger into my pussy, and the plug fights the resistance of my muscle for a single moment before it slips into my ass and I’m full.
I’m barely starting to adjust to the feeling when Mount’s palm connects with my clit with a sharp slap. My back arches as I scream—not in pain, but in mind-bending pleasure.
Mount leans over my prone body, his finger still circling my sensitive clit. “That’s your punishment for getting yourself off when I told you not to.”
When he says it, I realize I screamed his last name, just like he told me I would. I want to hate myself and him for it, but his hands are too busy. One circles my clit while the other puts pressure on the base of the plug. My thighs, now coated in my own wetness, squeeze together as another orgasm bears down on me. He stills before it bursts over me.
“You don’t want to know what the penalty is for taking this out before I tell you to, do you, Keira?”
Keira
I’m a mess by the time Mount drags the thong back up my legs and maneuvers it into place, making sure to press against the base of the plug again, sending aftershocks through me. Literally, figuratively, and any other possible way you can conceive.
He lifts me off his lap as though I weigh nothing and stands me on my feet, keeping a grip on one hip as the hem of the dress falls back into place. As soon as I’m upright, I remember the whole reason for this exercise.
“Shit! I’m going to be late.” I bolt toward the door, but Mount’s deep voice stops me.
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nbsp; “You have plenty of time. Your meeting doesn’t start for another hour.”
I swing around and all the heat humming through my body freezes. “You lied to me.”
His only answer is a dismissive shrug.
“You—”
He interrupts me before I can curse him. “From now on, every time you call me an asshole, a bastard, or any other slur, or tell me you hate me, I’m going to put you over my knee or bend you over the nearest flat surface. I’ll either spank your ass or your pussy, or fuck one of them. No one speaks to me like that without repercussions, and you just got your last free pass.”
I swallow the insult that’s on my tongue, wondering how in the hell I’m going to manage not to swear at him or tell him I hate him. He makes me so goddamned angry, I can’t control my own responses.
No one has ever had that kind of power over me, and I hate that he does.
I square my shoulders and stand as tall as my frame allows. “You can’t control everything.”
He rises from the chair. “And you’ve never been more wrong. Get your coat. You wouldn’t want to be late for your meeting.”
I snatch it off the floor where I dropped it, and shove my arms into it.
“That thing is ugly as hell.”
“It’s the only one I have, so I guess you have to deal with it.” I refuse to look at him.
As I walk toward the door, I feel him stalking close behind me. His suit coat brushes against my arm when he reaches around to open the door, and his heat envelops my body.
When the door swings open, my mouth drops open in shock.
It was unlocked this whole time. I could have run.
Maybe in my dreams. I wouldn’t have made it two steps before Mount reached me. And who knows what that punishment would have been.
My ass clenches, too aware of the foreign object inside it.
Scar waits in the hall with the hood. Is it too much to hope he’s deaf as well as apparently mute?
“Make sure she gets to the distillery before nine. Pick her up at six. She’s not working late this evening because I have plans.”
I turn to argue because he’s speaking to Scar like I’m not present, but Mount’s features might as well be carved from granite. That’s when I realize that this is the Mount his employees know. The Mount everyone knows. The implacable, cold man whose orders are never questioned or denied. The man who rules with an iron fist and no velvet glove.
When his hard eyes land on me, it’s like I’m staring at a different person. I have no doubt this man is every bit as ruthless as his reputation declares.
This isn’t the man who carefully surveyed my injured hand last night—before dousing it in fire—but I can’t argue that it doesn’t hurt today at all because of his actions. This also isn’t the man who was just inside that sitting room, making sure I gained as much pleasure from my first experience with anal play as possible.
Which one is the real Mount? Do I even want to know? Does it matter?
The questions stay with me as Scar hands me the hood and silently carries me away. I tell myself I’m imagining it, but I swear I can feel Mount’s gaze burn into my back as we leave.
* * *
“I don’t think we’ll have any trouble giving you a little more leeway on your line of credit while you wait for that check to come through, Ms. Kilgore.”
Lloyd Bunt delivers his opinion to my chest rather than to my eyes, and I don’t know whether I want to curse Mount for leaving my nipples perpetually hard or thank him, because that ridiculous fact might have just bought Seven Sinners a little more time.
I sink back into my chair with a sigh of relief, and the movement shifts the plug in my ass. I paste a smile on my face, not that it matters because Bunt is still staring at my boobs. “I appreciate the consideration. We have several other promising proposals out for bid that will no doubt lead to additional large payments on the line of credit and on the principal of our loan.”
Bunt finally raises his gaze to my eyes. “Excellent to hear. We’ll look forward to seeing those payments in the near future. And . . . you know, we should probably get another meeting on the calendar as a check-in before I leave. Perhaps next time over dinner?”
My banker is not asking me on a date. That’s seriously not happening.
“I can get us a great table at Galatoire’s any time.”
Yes. Yes, he is. Great.
How do I reply to this delicately? I don’t want him reconsidering the deal he just struck with my boobs—I mean, me. I scramble for a diplomatic answer.
“I think I’ll be burning the midnight oil for some time just to make absolutely sure Seven Sinners stays as profitable as I know it’s going to be for a long time to come.”
Bunt smiles. “Then how about dinner in the restaurant upstairs? Surely the boss gets to take time to eat in her own establishment?”
He’s not going to let me get out of this easily, is he?
“Of course. It’s my humble opinion that Odile rivals the best chefs in town.”
“Great. Then how about tomorrow night?”
I smile while gritting my teeth. The man doesn’t understand the word subtle in the least. “Let me check with my assistant. She knows my calendar better than I do. I’ll get back to you on that.”
“Good. I’ll expect a call from you tomorrow.” He hands me his card. “My cell number is on here as well. Only my favorite clients get this one.”
“Wow. Thank you. I don’t know what to say,” I reply, and it’s the absolute truth.
“Just say yes to dinner, Keira. I’d love to get to know you better.”
Finally, the excuse I should have been using all along snaps into my brain, and I smile sadly. “In the interest of full disclosure, Lloyd, I’m really still . . . in a grieving period, so friendship is all I’m capable of right now.”
His smile reflects his sympathy for all of two seconds. “I absolutely understand. I think we could be great friends, Keira. It would further our working relationship too. When I have a vested interest in certain clients, I go above and beyond to make sure their files are kept on my desk, instead of . . .”
He doesn’t finish the rest of his sentence, but it’s implied. If I agree to dinner, he’ll make sure to keep my loan out of workout. Then again, I’m not naive enough to think his expectations would end with dinner.
“I’ll be in touch, Keira.” He gives me another smarmy smile as he rises from the chair and gathers my loan documents to tuck them in his briefcase. When he finishes, he pauses. “I’m really looking forward to dinner.”
To him, it’s a foregone conclusion.
I nod as he leaves my office, and can’t help but think that his suit hangs on him like a little boy playing dress-up. Nothing like the way Mount’s fit him to perfection, accentuating his broad shoulders and narrow waist.
My unruly brain adds broad shoulders you clawed with your nails . . . and I shut it down. I shouldn’t even be making a comparison between the two men.
And if Mount knew what Bunt suggested . . . I shiver at the thought of what might happen to my banker.
I still wonder if Mount has cameras in my office, and if he does, whether they’re wired for sound too. It’s a question I should ask, but the man with the granite features that I left this morning isn’t one who will give me any answers.
I sit back down at my desk and stack my copies of the loan documents to return them to their file. Seven Sinners is barely staying in the black. These events have to come through, or I’m going to need a miracle.
Before I can contemplate the topic further, there’s a knock on my door and Temperance pokes her head in.
“How’d it go?”
The smile I shoot her way is genuine. “Seven Sinners will live to fight another day. Hopefully many, many days.”
“I knew you could do it.” Her gaze skims over my dress. “And your outfit is on point, boss. You’ve stepped it up in the fashion department for these meetings. Smart.”
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nbsp; I can’t admit that I had nothing to do with these choices, but I suppose I should be grateful they worked in my favor, even if my last two business victories leave a bad taste in my mouth because they feel manipulative.
But I’m not the one manipulating things here, I remind myself.
I don’t need to use my boobs to succeed in business, but Mount’s point was again hammered home this morning. I have been oblivious to how men looked at me, and now I’m hypersensitive to it.
Another knock sounds on the door. I expect Louis to pop his head in, but it’s an unfamiliar face.
“Breakfast delivery for Ms. Kilgore. The receptionist said I should bring it here.”
I open my mouth to say that I didn’t order any breakfast, but that would raise questions from Temperance I’m not prepared to answer. “Thank you. Here is fine.”
The delivery guy steps inside, and I open my desk drawer to grab some cash for a tip, but he waves it away.
“We’re all set. Enjoy.”
Temperance turns to watch him walk away. “He was cute. What restaurant is that from? I might need to order some takeout.”
“Uh . . .” I stare down at the plain brown bag devoid of any logo. “You know, that new place I’ve been wanting to try.” I snap my fingers like the name is escaping me, frustrated that there’s no receipt stapled to the bag with a name. “I swear it’ll come to me as soon as you walk out the door.”
Temperance eyes me with a strange expression on her face. “Okay. Keep the cute delivery guy to yourself if you want.”
“It’s not that—”
She holds up both hands. “Hey, if you call dibs, I’m not one to judge.”
“No dibs. All yours. I swear. I’m just flustered from the meeting and all the stress leading up to it. And now I have to figure out how to get out of having dinner with Lloyd Bunt.”
Her expression swiftly changes to disgust. “He asked you out? During a business meeting? That’s just plain unprofessional. Plus, he’s . . . ugh.” She shudders to drive her opinion home, and I can’t disagree with her. Lloyd is the last man I want to have dinner with.