by K. L. Kreig
She shifts positions so the opposite hip faces me, the opposite knee bends. This time when she parts the silky lengths, the triangle covering her bareness falls away. Smooth red ribbons hang down her pale thighs, past her knees. She could easily open her legs and let the piece fall.
But she doesn’t.
Oh no. My vixen taunts. Performs. Gives me a show, but she’s really doing as I asked—giving herself to me with no reservations.
Reaching down, she grabs the scrap and closes her eyes on a rush of air when, inch by agonizing inch, she eases the fabric through her pussy lips.
Fuck.
That. Is. Hot.
By the time she’s done and the clearly damp panties flutter from her fingers, she’s breathing so fast I know she’s close to orgasm again.
“Oh, you bad, bad girl,” I whisper hoarsely while jerking my tie from the collar of my dress shirt. I rip the first two buttons savagely apart, my need to completely possess her overtaking me once again.
Her throat works to swallow. To her credit, she remains steady.
“Turn around.”
“Shaw.”
Gripping her shoulders, I spin her myself and guide her forward until her thighs hit wood.
“Do you need to come that bad, Willow? That you can’t wait for me?” I rasp in her ear, watching goose bumps travel the length of her arm. Air pushes brokenly from her lungs, but she doesn’t answer.
Running my palms down her arms, I grip her wrists and bring them to the small of her back, shackling them together. With my free hand between her shoulder blades, I gently push her torso forward until she’s bent at the waist, bare breasts pressed to my cold desk.
My eyes travel the line of her spine, over the arch of her back to the curve of that perky ass just waiting for my hand. She looks so fucking good. I want to spread her thighs and memorize every succulent inch of her. Every time I sit in my chair from now on, I’ll have a hard-on thinking of her glistening pussy spread for me, ready for me.
“Higher.” I give her right cheek a hard smack. She squeals but that arch in her back gets more pronounced, causing her hips to shift up several inches. I focus on the blood that’s rushing to the surface in the shape of my palm. Mother of God, that looks good. “Good girl.”
Taking the thin silk tie still clutched in my hand, I ease it between her spread ass cheeks and slowly drag it upward. Even that slight touch has her flinching, wanting more.
“Shaw, please.”
“Please, what?” I lay down a slap on her left side, relishing in both her low moans and the mirrored handprint now developing. I’ve wanted to mark her in this most primal of ways since the second I saw those long, lush legs snake out from her Fiat at the crash site.
Because I can, I place two more quick blows before kicking her legs farther apart. Once again, I drag the tie between her drenched folds, only this time I hold both ends taut and press the thinnest edge of it straight into her center, right over her clit. She mumbles my name, but it’s just a broken mess of syllables barely strung together.
I lean over her, still fully clothed, pressing my lips to the sleek column of her neck. “You are incredibly gorgeous right now, do you know that?”
She doesn’t answer. She pants. She wiggles. Begs me for everything with just the gracefulness of her body currently under my command.
Dropping the ruined tie beside me, I stand and slide my hands over her ass, her hips, the backs of her thighs. Wasting no more time, I wind around front and dip a finger through her slit, easily pushing inside.
“Oh, Willow. Jesus fucking Christ you’re wet.”
Her hips begin to rock, brushing the erection now nestled in her ass with every swivel. With the other hand, I grip her hard, making her stop on a gasp.
“Did I do this, or did you with your naughty little trick?”
My fingers flex when she stays silent.
“You,” she answers quietly.
“Do you want to take care of it, my little imp, or do you want me to?” She intentionally clamps her walls around that single finger, and I want to both throttle her and ram inside her, making her cry for me either way.
“You.” Her reply is wispy, thin. Needy.
I lick my way up her spine, biting along her shoulder, leaving my marks behind. Bending the digit buried in her, I press against her front wall until I feel the tiny smooth patch I’m seeking. When she exhales hard and bucks, I know I’ve hit the magic spot.
Drawing my finger slowly out, I add a second and press back in, rubbing against that place that’s making her meld with the dark wood.
“And if I asked you to? If I asked you to sit on the edge of this desk, face the window, spread your legs wide, and get yourself off for me while I watch, Willow, would you?”
“Shit,” she breathes. My fingers drip with how much that thought excites her. Jesus. She’s incredible. I let her get close then stop.
“Would you?” With a quick slap to her outer thigh, she yelps with the answer I’m looking for.
“Yes, yes I would.”
“Oh, how I want that,” I groan raggedly. I want to watch how she brings pleasure to herself while it’s my eyes she’s looking into. I want her at my feet, sucking me. I want her riding my cock, head thrown back in ecstasy. I want dirty and depraved, sweet and romantic. I want it all. I won’t let her go until I have it.
For a third and fourth time, I’m merciless. I bring her close, leaving her hanging on to nothing but a pained sob. She’s covered in a slick sweat of exertion, at her breaking point, and my dick is about to riot if he isn’t plunged inside of her within the next thirty seconds.
Guess playtime is over.
Pulling away, I quickly undo the buttons on my shirt and shrug it off my shoulders. I throw it to the floor, uncaring about wrinkles. I have three others hanging in the closet. I let my dress pants fall to my knees but don’t step out of them.
Then I snap up the black tie I’d discarded earlier, now coated in her arousal on one side. I bring it to my nose and inhale deeply, enjoying the musky smell of how I affect her before I wrap it several times around the wrists she’s obediently kept crossed, quickly tying it off. The contrast between the black binding her hands and her fair, pale skin is mesmerizing.
Stepping back, I grab a stolen moment to admire her. High, smooth bottom. Trembling fingers. Nude heels that shape her lean calves. Golden hair spills to the side opposite the way she’s facing with closed eyes and short breaths parting her lips.
I’m enthralled by her. Humbled, actually. A woman has to put total trust in you to allow herself to be this vulnerable.
She’s bound. Willing. Wanton. Completely open and bared and so fucking turned on, her desire slicks her inner flesh.
It’s all for me.
For me.
Quickly handling my briefs, I forgo everything else I wanted to do, my sole goal to bury myself to the hilt. Make her moan. Make her come harder than she ever has. I don’t want her to ever forget this. Or me.
The second I grip her again she relaxes, molding to me like hot wax in my hands. And when I sink inside, slowly driving root deep on a long low groan, I wholly fall into this woman. I’m spellbound, totally and absolutely.
It’s intense and all-consuming to indulge in Willow Blackwell like this.
I slide out. Inch back in.
“Faster,” she pleads, trying—failing—to push back into me.
Slow. Methodical. I control it.
“Shaw, please.”
I hold her still.
Out.
In.
First shallow. Repeat.
Then deep. So goddamn deep, I lose my mind.
“More. I need more.”
She’s in exquisite pain. Pain heightens pleasure.
More pain.
More pleasure.
More, period.
I draw out and slam back in so rough my desk shifts. “Like this, beautiful?”
Her fingers curl, nails scratching my stomach. �
��Yes,” she chants as I do it again and again until I’m sweating and her walls tighten. Fuuuuck. They clamp so hard I’m gonna blow already.
I still and breathe long and even, buried so fucking far I feel the comfort of home. “Willow, my God, you are heaven,” I groan. Fucking heaven. And hell. The undivided reach in between.
Time is meaningless, space nonexistent.
My head drops back.
I’m reeling.
Falling.
Falling so goddamn hard for her.
I want this to last. I never want to leave the warmth and pleasure of her, but my body has other plans. My climax gathers steam, tightening my balls more with every deliberate, torturous drag against her swollen center.
Her body trembles, both inside and out, and with a featherlight touch over her clit, she’s gone. Clenching, writhing, back arching beneath me until I can’t hold back anymore. Stars explode in my vision as I empty myself into her, biting my lip to keep from roaring in absolute fucking ecstasy.
Breathing fast, I fall over her.
Sweaty.
Replete.
Wrecked.
She’s ruined me.
And when the first husky words out of her mouth, after I’ve just fucked us both boneless are, “the car,” I know I’ll never be the same.
This beautiful, stubborn golden sprite will be my downfall.
29
I swallow the thick bile threatening to escape my stomach, but it’s too late. The rancid taste already lingers on my tongue. Reaching into my purse, I retrieve a cinnamon Altoids and pop it. Closing my eyes, I drag the warm summer air into my lungs, let it reinvigorate my blood, and push it back out. Slow and intentional. I concentrate on only the breaths I’m taking versus the interrogation—er, interview—I’m about to undergo.
While I’m trying hard to erase my mind, my cell dings. I ignore it. It dings again. And again.
And yet again.
Really?
Fuck it. It doesn’t matter. My Zen is so damn far away, I may as well haul ass to China to get it back.
I pluck the phone from the gray leather dashboard of my brand-new car, which I will not be keeping, although it’s the most beautiful car I’ve ever owned, and see the rapid-fire texts from my friend, Jo.
Girls night tomorrow 9:00 pm
LD kickoff at Skyfall
No is not an option
Text ltr with deets
Shit. It is Labor Day this weekend. Skyfall, where Sierra works, has the biggest, badass three-day-long party to celebrate the last few unofficial days of summer, called Emfest—named after the Emerald City, of course.
They have Emerald Sky martinis and key lime beer, oddly good. The waitresses wear tiny, chartreuse skirts and nothing else but ornate body paint in varying designs. A dozen live bands will rock the three-story club throughout the weekend, but Sierra kicks it off on Thursday night with a dance party that can rival the likes of the hottest downtown Manhattan club. A line forms by noon, and the club doesn’t even open until five.
Jo and I, along with a couple of her friends, never miss it. We get passes to the third-floor VIP lounge where they have their own separate dance floor where it isn’t quite as crowded. We usually get a hotel room at the Alexis—Jo’s treat—so we can continue the party in the penthouse, where a band or two hosts a get-together. With her contacts, Jo always manages to finagle us an invitation.
Thursday is tomorrow night, but I haven’t given it a second thought, and neither Sierra nor Jo has mentioned it before now. Even if they had, I’d probably have still forgotten.
All I can think about is Shaw. I’m obsessed with him. Seeing him, talking to him, touching him. The last few weeks have absolutely blurred by and with another sharp twist in my belly, I realize I’m seven weeks closer to this business arrangement with Shaw being over. In fact, since it’s now early September, that means the election is only eight weeks away. I know this arrangement goes through Election Day, but I wonder how long afterward he’ll keep me around before he cuts me loose, staging the fake breakup to our fake relationship.
On the other hand, things shifted the night of the mayor’s dinner party and again this afternoon when I showed up at his office unannounced. I felt it in the air, sharp as a bullwhip. He seemed absolutely feral over the playful attention Noah was giving me, even though he really should be far more jealous of Reid.
A man who doesn’t care about you doesn’t go all Hulk over other men paying attention to you, does he? A man who’s going to cut you loose in a few short weeks doesn’t hover over your heart, telling you with a simple look he wants you to hand it over…does he?
I want more.
Today’s possessive display was unquestionably consistent with that statement from the other night, but…how much more does he actually want? How much more am I capable of giving?
I don’t know, but there’s one thing I do. And this isn’t wishful thinking; this is fact. Shaw Mercer commanded my body and my mind today like he knew exactly what I needed.
I was his playground. His toy.
He directed. I readily obeyed.
I climbed.
I teetered.
I slid.
I spun.
I flew.
I hovered high in the tower until I crashed to the soft sand below, his arms cushioning my fall.
I loved every last second of the sensual ride he put me through. It’s a ride I want to go on again and again. My body temp rises just remembering the feel of silk over my wrists and the dirty words he left in my ear.
No one has ever talked to me the way he does. So direct, so aware of what turns me on before I know myself. I never thought I’d like being wholly possessed by a man, but with that authoritative presence Shaw has about him, he had me today. Hook, line, and sinker. I was his willing plaything.
He’s not the only one who wants more.
“Daydreaming, Goldilocks?” Shaw’s smug voice floats through the open window, startling me.
“Uh…” I turn to my left to see Shaw’s handsome face framed by my window. His smile is sensual, and I know he’s remembering this afternoon just as I am. I could lie, but why bother? “Yes.”
My lips tingle when his gaze drops briefly to them. “About me, I hope.”
“Another fishing expedition, Drive By?” I hedge. Smug bastard.
“What can I say? I need a lot of validation.” With every inch he moves forward, I retreat until my head pushes against the headrest. “Now…admit you were remembering how thoroughly I fucked you earlier and how your pussy is still feeling me inside.”
I shrug one shoulder and try not to smile through my breathless reply. “I’ll admit no such thing.”
Laughing, he steps back, opens the door, and holds out his hand for me to take. I realize my cell is still in my hand, and I haven’t replied to Jo. I send her a quick one-letter reply: K. Throwing my phone in my purse before rolling up my windows, I take Shaw’s hand and let him help me from the car.
Once I’m outside, he gently closes my door then backs me up against it. His body is flush with mine. When he weaves his hands through my loose hair, my blood sparks with desire.
Lowering his lips to a hair from mine, he husks, “If you weren’t daydreaming about this afternoon, I demand a do-over to make sure you can think of nothing but how much you enjoy being tied up and at my mercy.”
I was. I do. Christ, my entire body still buzzes.
“A do-over?” I internally cringe at how excited I sound.
A self-satisfied grin splits his lips a second before they’re on mine, kissing me mindless right out in the open. “Oh, yes. A do-over is definitely in order.” His rough promise trickles over my now puffy mouth, making me wish we could get to that do-over now instead of the interview we’re about to give for the Seattle 7-Day.
With a quick peck, he asks, “Should we go in?”
I nod. “Okay.”
“You nervous?” He takes my hand in his. It’s probably clammy.
/> “A little,” I reply.
When I look up, the smile he gives me relaxes me even more. His strength and calm pour through me. “It will be fine, baby.”
Although that sweet endearment sends shivers up my spine, I find I weirdly prefer when he calls me Goldilocks instead. It’s unique, and I’d like to believe it’s only mine.
“Come on.” He tugs on my arm, pulling me forward.
I parked on the street across from the five-story, red brick building with a crude sign in the second-story window that says: Seattle 7-Day. We wait for traffic to pass before we dart across the street, down the block, and into the building. Since it’s only one flight up, we take the stairs instead of the elevator, my clicking heels echoing in the stairwell.
At the top, Shaw opens the glass door for me, speaking to the receptionist when he steps to my side. His arm slides around my waist and his lips find my temple—as though we are a true couple. I grin involuntarily, feeling ridiculously giddy.
“You smell like me,” he whispers in my ear.
Oh. My. God.
Heat blooms on my face. I went to Shaw’s office early this afternoon. By the time I left, not only had we not resolved the car issue, but I was late for my momma’s doctor’s appointment because an afternoon delight wasn’t in today’s tight schedule. It turned out her doctor was running an hour late. and when we were finished, I didn’t have time to go home and shower, or else I would have been late for this.
“Shaw,” I scold on a muted choke.
“I really love the way I smell on you, Willow. I could get used to it.”
When he says things like that, butterflies bump against the walls of my stomach, and I foolishly fall further into what could be instead of what is. I pull back to see both warmth and lust fill his eyes. I’m sinking so fucking fast into Shaw Mercer that only a sliver of daylight remains before I’m completely under.
“Shaw Mercer, nice to see you,” a gruff, feminine voice calls from behind me. Shaw’s eyes stay connected with mine for a few moments longer before he looks over my head and straightens.