by July Hall
The car stopped. The very slight movement pushed Sandra closer against Charles’s chest, and she gave him another kiss for free. “Okay,” she whispered. “Not yet.”
“Not—?” His question died when she squeezed him again.
She reached for his belt buckle. Then she paused, reconsidered, and said, “I don’t want to mess up my shirt.”
He opened his mouth. Before he could come up with something smart to say, she pulled her blouse over her head. He gasped when he saw the pink lace bra beneath. It was the one she’d worn the first time she’d come to his office.
The car began moving forward again. She reached behind her back for the clasp, glanced at his belt, and said, “I’ve only got two hands, so…”
He hissed and started tugging his belt open. Sandra popped open her clasp and dropped the bra down on the floor next to her blouse. Then she sat back on her heels and let him look at her while he pulled out his cock.
“Don’t make me ask,” he repeated, but the desperation in his eyes sucked all the force out of the command.
“I can’t make you do anything,” Sandra said. She leaned forward and kissed him again, sighing when his hands touched her bare skin. He was almost totally dressed. She had nowhere near as much room to play as he did.
But she did have one really important thing. She palmed his cock as she kissed him and sank back down to rub it between her breasts.
He bucked forward into her touch, and kissed her again like a starving man. His hands clutched at her hair. “Fuck,” he gasped. She pressed her breasts more closely around him. “Darling, oh God.”
The darlings were already coming out? This must be driving him wild. Feeling dizzy, even giddy with power, Sandra ran the pad of her thumb over the head of his cock and felt moisture gather there. He groaned. Then, while he watched, she rubbed his crown against her nipple and let her eyes fall shut. His hot, smooth flesh felt wonderful there. His pre-come was dripping on her skin.
Then everything moved as Charles pushed her hand off him, wrapped his arms around her, and held her still while he bent down to her breast. He licked until he’d cleaned himself off of her and Sandra was muffling her cries in her own hand.
“Charles,” she sobbed in his ear, “lick…suck…” She gulped for air. “My breasts, please…” Without a pause, he moved to her other one, opening his mouth as if he wanted to take the whole thing in. “Please, please lick them—”
He did, moaning, kneading her bare back with his hands. Sandra couldn’t think. There was nothing in the world but his mouth on her, giving her everything she asked for, everything she wanted.
“It’s good to ask,” she whimpered. “It feels good, don’t you know that? Oh—” He sucked hard, and then harder. “Oh yes, baby...”
“Is it good?” he panted. He began to kiss and bite his way up her chest until he was nuzzling beneath her ear.
God. She could practically hump his leg right now. “I just want you to know,” she choked. “What it’s like.”
“Please,” he said in her ear, barely audible. “Please, Sandra.” She put her hand on his cock again. It twitched. “Ah! You know. You know what I—”
“Please kiss my neck, Charles,” Sandra whispered. She rested her other hand on his shoulder, against the plush wool of his overcoat. He must be sweating bullets. “Please kiss my shoulders.”
“Damn it, goddamn it,” he panted, but he did, covering her shoulder with kisses. “Move your h-hand. That’s not how I want to…”
Sandra obediently let go of his cock, and said, “Ask me.”
He went still against her. Then he fisted his hand in her hair again and pulled her backward, looking at her with raging eyes, his teeth bared. Sandra’s heart stopped.
“You want me to beg?” he said.
“Wh—no!” Sandra gasped.
“To lower myself?”
His grip tightened. Her eyes began to smart. Oh, shit. Her arousal beat an immediate retreat in the face of his anger. She whimpered, “No, that’s not it. Don’t—” His eyes were wild, uncomprehending. “Don’t you know the difference? Jesus, I’d never want you to…Charles, ow!”
Charles’s eyes widened. He immediately let go of her hair. Then he closed his eyes, exhaled, and rested his forehead against hers.
“No,” he said hoarsely. “I know you wouldn’t.”
“Doesn’t it feel—” She was an idiot. She had to be an idiot. She’d misjudged everything. Sandra pressed a trembling hand to his cheek. “I’m sorry. It must not feel good. I didn’t mean to—”
“Shh. Shh.” He cupped the back of her neck, not ungently. Sandra looked down and saw more pre-come leaking down the side of his red, swollen cock. When he exhaled again, he groaned.
Fuck, she was a horrible person. She’d give him what he needed. Before she did, she whispered, “I’m sor—”
“Please suck me,” he rasped into the side of her throat. “Please suck my cock, Sandra. Please.”
She didn’t need to be asked again. She pushed him back so she could bend over and then took him back in her hand and swirled her tongue over the head.
He moaned, low and raw. His hips pushed forward, and she opened her mouth. She shielded him from her teeth and made everything soft as she began to suck.
He was so hard she’d been sure he would come immediately. But he slid his hands into her hair instead, pushing it out of her face. “Oh,” he choked. “Oh my God, my darling.” She looked up to see him staring down at her, his pupils blown wide, but when their eyes met, he closed his again, and his head fell back against the seat with a thump. “Yes.”
The cold in her chest thawed a little. Yes? Maybe it felt good after all. Maybe she was doing the right thing. Sandra closed her eyes again and hollowed her cheeks, sucking harder. He moaned again, and his pre-come was salty on her tongue.
Last time, she’d teased him, tried to draw it out with fancy tricks, fun and games. Today, she let him fuck her mouth. She couldn’t let him go as deeply as they both wanted, that was still too much, but she did everything she could. When she needed to come up for air, she raised her head, and strings of pre-come trailed from the tip of his cock to her lips. She licked them, tasting him.
Charles’s desperate, helpless groan was all the warning she needed. She opened her mouth again, took him in, and rubbed the head of his cock with the flat of her tongue.
He slammed one fist against the leather seat, grabbed her shoulder, and came in her mouth so hard she felt it dripping down her chin. Now he was too breathless to make a sound. She swallowed as much as she could, and kept going, trying to prolong his pleasure.
When he started gulping for air and pushing at her shoulders, Sandra let him fall from her lips. Her jaw ached, and her scalp stung where he’d pulled at her hair. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and tried to get her breath back. His eyes were still closed while he collapsed, panting, against the seat.
Now that it was over, her anxiety returned full force. “I’m sorry,” she said again, licking her lips. It was her turn to start shaking. “I didn’t mean to…to insult you, or whatever. I’m s-sorry it wasn’t good.”
Charles made a breathless noise that was sort of like a laugh. He rubbed a hand over his closed eyes. “Insult me,” he said, so quietly she almost couldn’t hear him. “You think it wasn’t good.”
“Um—”
He dropped his hand and opened his eyes. “Come here,” he said, but she didn’t have time to move anywhere before he leaned forward to kiss her. He kissed every trace of himself from her mouth and chin.
By the time he was sucking gently on her bottom lip, she had relaxed bit by bit into his arms. He didn’t seem mad anymore. Maybe this was okay.
“That’s what happens when I ask for what I want?” he said, rubbing his nose against her cheek.
“I-I guess,” Sandra said. She closed her eyes. “I’ll give it to you, Charles, I swear.”
“Will you?” he said hoarsely. He dug his hands into
the flesh of her back. “Be careful with those promises. You never know what I might want.”
It didn’t matter. Sandra kept her eyes closed. There was nothing he could want that she wouldn’t give, along with plenty of things he didn’t.
“Someone like me…” Charles continued. He gave a rough, humorless chuckle. “You need to watch out for dogs, little fox.” He kissed her throat. “We’re hungry.” He rested his damp forehead on her shoulder. “We’ll eat every bite.”
* * *
Charles had no idea how far they’d driven or for how long. He only knew that by the time the car dropped Sandra off two blocks from her office, she’d had just enough time to get all her clothes back on, pat down her hair, and redo her lip gloss. There wasn’t enough time for him to touch her. She didn’t seem to be in the mood for that, though.
In fact, she had a hard time meeting his eyes, but she managed a smile when she opened the door for herself. “I’ll see you on Saturday night,” she murmured, with no suggestion of anything between now and then. “G-good luck with everything.”
He didn’t reply. His brain was still melted into slag. He could only manage one coherent thought when the door closed behind her.
He’d die before he’d give this up. He’d fucking die.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Just another block, Sandra told herself, just one more block. She had to manage one more block. Even if she turned around after that, her morning run would still be only half its usual length.
What the hell was the matter with her? Maybe she was coming down with something. Her limbs felt heavy as lead. Yesterday, she’d gotten a tension headache that had wrecked her entire afternoon. She didn’t have a fever, or she would have suspected the flu. The news said that it was making the rounds, and when you went in and out of people’s houses and shook their hands all day long, you could pick up germs.
Exhaustion, headache, a sour stomach. If not for one thing, she might have suspected—God help her—pregnancy. But yesterday evening, when she’d undressed for bed, she saw that she’d spotted blood in her underwear. She almost never got periods since she’d had the implant in, and when she did, they tended to come and go without warning and were always very light. She hadn’t even really thought about it until she saw the blood and realized what her symptoms could have meant. Then she’d gone so knock-kneed she’d sat down on her bed before she could fall on her ass.
But the implant was supposedly idiot-proof, with a failure rate of about 0.05%, if she recalled correctly. It was why she’d chosen it in the first place. A few deep breaths had set her right, and then she was able to think more clearly. No, her symptoms weren’t the result of any physical ailment. They came from stress.
Gee, what could she possibly be stressed about?
Running usually gave her more energy. Even if she started her run feeling groggy, by the time she got home, her heart was pounding and she was ready to hit the shower and greet the rest of her day. It annoyed the shit out of Kristen, who greeted the day like a human-shaped slug. And yet, less than halfway through today’s run, Sandra just wanted to flop down on the nearest brownstone stoop.
She got halfway down the next block before she gave up, putting her hands on her knees as she tried to get her breath back. Her stomach roiled and her head throbbed again. She leaned back against a lamppost and rested her head against the metal. The cold touch of iron brought her back to herself.
A door opened. She looked up to see a young blond woman ushering two little boys down the front stairs of her stoop, both of them dressed in squishy coats and wool hats. The woman said, “Careful going down the stairs, okay?” The older kid couldn’t have been more than five or six.
The woman looked up and saw Sandra leaning against the lamppost. “Oh my gosh,” she said. “Are you all right?”
“Oh, yeah,” Sandra said, glad it didn’t sound sarcastic. She waved. “Sorry. Just overdid it this morning.”
“I remember when I started running,” the woman said with a smile. “I thought I was in such good shape. Not so much, as it turns out. But just keep at it, and it gets a lot easier. Bryce, hold on to the rails,” she added.
The older boy dutifully took hold of the iron railing. “Mommy, what’s wrong with that lady?” he asked.
“She’s just tired, honey.” The woman glanced back at Sandra, and mouthed, Are you sure?
Sandra smiled. “Oh yes. Thanks, though. I’d better be getting back.” Sure enough, the brief respite had helped. She waved at the woman and turned to go back home.
She didn’t feel up to running, though. She power-walked instead. At least she’d only gone half her usual distance. She should still be home in plenty of time to go to work, and today she didn’t have any appointments out of the office. She could stay at her desk.
That was just as well. Sometimes dangerous things happened when she left her desk.
It was Friday. Two days ago, she’d gotten into the back of Charles’s car and been so badly shaken that she hadn’t been able to call him since then. That was okay, though, right? He was so busy that he had to stay at his office overnight. He probably wouldn’t even notice her silence.
She’d had the nightmare again. The one where she was falling. She’d had it two nights in a row. It was a little different now—this time, she knew she was falling because she’d jumped, even though she’d known what would happen. But she’d jumped anyway.
She was so scared. Not of Charles, though he’d certainly frightened her for a few moments with his anger. But that would have frightened anybody, and it had passed quickly enough. What really scared her was how deeply affected she’d been by the encounter and how willing she was to throw aside her own responsibilities just for the chance to see him. Even when things had been good between her and Bradley, she would never have dreamed of playing hooky for him—and he’d asked her to. Nicely, at that.
At least Arnaud and Indira hadn’t noticed anything when she’d returned to the office. If she ever lost her game face enough for everyone to see how messed up she was…
Sandra put the thought aside with all of her might as she got home and climbed into the shower. Instead, as she scrubbed off her sweat, she forced herself to think about the day’s upcoming tasks. She had a very organized to-do list, and she needed to cross off every item so she wouldn’t have anything to worry about tomorrow, when she and Arnaud went to the wedding.
Damn it. Just the thought of that made her want to crawl under her bed. She had to spend a whole night attracting new clients without seeming crass, while also avoiding all the Magisters. Well, she’d have to congratulate Stephen, of course, but she also had—somehow—to keep away from Rosalie and Bradley. And she didn’t dare talk much to Charles, because no matter how good her game face was, it couldn’t be that good.
Not that it mattered. He’d probably spend all evening talking to Josephine Banks.
Sandra fought down another surge of nausea at the thought. Charles had told her, very firmly, that Josephine was just a friend he hadn’t seen in years. She was a friend who’d been invited to his brother’s wedding because she was part of a world that Sandra didn’t truly understand.
Josephine obviously understood it just fine. Google hadn’t turned up much on her, but she chaired a few philanthropy committees when she wasn’t living it up in Monte Carlo. She hobnobbed with international luminaries. One of her fundraisers had hosted the Empress of Japan.
Richard Zhou would never have pulled his shit on Josephine, Sandra was pretty sure.
And Charles remembered Josephine fondly. Apparently that’s what happened. Sandra couldn’t imagine him being on bad terms with any of his exes. He let some of them get closer than others, and after things ended, he remembered them fondly.
Get over yourself, Sandra thought as she climbed back out of the clawfoot tub. Scum was starting to gather at the bottom of the rounded corners. She’d have to scrub it soon, and the whole apartment needed a good vacuuming too. Get over yourself and go do y
our job.
But that focus became a little harder to maintain when her phone rang while she waited on the crowded subway platform at Bergen Street. Charles was calling bright and early.
Well, shoot. So much for keeping her mind on work. Even with all the craziness, just the sight of his name on the display made her tingle from head to toe. Her heart fluttering, Sandra swiped her thumb over the screen to accept the call. “Hi,” she said. “What’s up?”
“Nothing, I hope,” he said. The sound of his deep voice made her quiver inside. “I haven’t heard from you in a few days. I assume all is well.”
The fact that he was asking meant he assumed no such thing. Sandra winced and adjusted her tote bag on her shoulder. When had it gotten so heavy? “Yeah, of course!” she said as brightly as she could manage. “I’ve just been busy. Everything’s great. What about you? Are you all set up for the wedding?”
“Rosalie’s setting up for the wedding. I’m setting up for the final signing of the prenup tonight,” Charles said. “I’ll be grateful when that’s settled. And much more prepared to endure the rehearsal afterward.”
“You’re the best man, right?”
“No, no. I’m the flower girl.”
“Ha-ha.” Although the idea of him walking down the aisle in a white lace dress while throwing rose petals was hilarious. “Is there going to be a rehearsal dinner?”
“Yes, but just a small one for the wedding party. La Coquille, if you’ve heard of it, in Sands Point.”
Sandra’s experience of top-drawer French restaurants on the Gold Coast was kind of limited. “Nope. You’ll have to tell me all about it.”
Her own words made her flinch. That would probably have to wait until Sunday. She definitely shouldn’t get her hopes up about stealing a few moments alone with him during the reception or any other totally stupid fantasy. He’d be busy with…lots of other stuff.
“I will,” Charles said mildly enough. “We’re still on for Sunday?”
At least it was a question this time, and not an order. In spite of her nerves, Sandra grinned. Maybe you could teach a middle-aged dog new tricks.