"Touch me. Please!" she whimpered. “I’m begging you. Please.”
The corner of his mouth tilted up as he appeared to consider something for a moment; then he began undressing, taking off the suit, one piece at a time then laying each item of clothing across a nearby chair. Soon he was naked too, his cock thick and hard, jutting up from a thatch of blond hair to touch his belly.
Sasha's eyes widened at the size of him. No wonder he had been stretching her with his fingers, preparing her for the size of his massive cock. She trembled again as he knelt once again between her legs. For a moment, he only watched, coolly dissecting her with his eyes as if his cock wasn’t throbbing to be touched against her hip. Then he came to her.
Damien stroked her throat, leaving quivering sensation in his wake. He touched the line between her breasts, down to her belly, his caresses light and teasing. It seemed he was intent on learning every part of her he could reach by touch. Stroking the muscles of her arms, her shoulders, her ribs, but deliberately avoiding her nipples, her fat and glistening clitoris, the slit of her soaked and empty sex.
He touched her until she moaned from arousal then need, then frustration, each stroke of his fingers lifting her desire higher and higher until she was begging him, pleading with him to take her, anywhere he wanted. However he wanted. She was blind and dumb to everything but the feel of him, the press of his cock against her hip, his heavy breathing in her ear.
Her nipples were swollen and aching, hard pebbles of need. His breath hovered over them, misting the hungry flesh but he did not kiss them, did not suck them. When she tried to move up in the bed and thrust her nipples into his mouth, he moved deftly back out of her reach then continued his assault until she was crying with want, the tears dripping down the sides of her face. Sasha squeezed her eyes tightly shut, convinced she was going to die from desire, burn from the inside out from want of him. She pulled at the handcuffs until the scraped her wrists. Begging him to take her. To put her out of this misery of fleshly want.
“Do you want something from me?”
“Yes! Yes!”
“Tell me.” He pressed a palm between her legs and she almost fell apart. “Tell me, Sasha.”
“I want you to fuck me!” she cried out, repeating the words, gasping them, moaning them all the while tugging her wrists against the handcuffs. The chains rattled. Her body writhed in the bed.
"You're so beautiful when you beg." He pulled his hand from her. “How could I resist you?”
He replaced his hand with the thick head of his cock. He stroked her weeping slit with his thickness while his fingers circled her clit. He watched her face as slowly, slowly he pushed inside her.
The pleasure of it made her cry out. "Ah!"
He stopped, his fingers on her clit making harder circles, faster until her hips jerked on her bed from the intense sensation. His cock slipped deeper inside, stretching her more and more. Sasha clenched her hands. She winced at the immense size of him. He stopped his forward movement, fingers on her slippery clit, circling. She bit her lips.
"More!"
After a watchful moment's pause, he pushed deeper inside, the pleasure from his strokes on her clitoris easing the way until he was all the way inside and kneeling between her spread thighs. His face was a hard mask, transformed by want.
"You feel so good!" he gasped.
He gripped her hips, keeping her still as he began to move, taking her slowly, rolling his hips between her thighs until the sensation came, a fiery nectar flooding though her body. His manhood stroked her deep inside, the movement of his hips pressing hard into her clitoris. She panted with pleasure, in a daze from it. She was filled, the most she'd ever been in her life. And the sweetness of it. God, the sweetness!
Sasha moved her hips in the bed, swallowing his wonderful thickness as he took her, stroking her deeply. The sweat dripped from her as he made her feel things she'd never felt before. Pure bliss.
She thought it couldn’t get any better. It just couldn't. Then he settled even more between her thighs, pressing his body down into hers to put his mouth on her breasts.
“Oh my God!”
He sucked her nipples and bit them while his hardness slammed between her thighs. She cried out his name, clenching her fists, wishing she could touch him as he was touching her. A fireball of sensation flared in her belly.
"Come for me, Sasha," he gasped against her breasts. "Come."
She bucked in the bed under him, slashed through with delight, the lightning of satisfaction flaring through her, dragging loud cries from her throat again and again. His hips sped up, pounding her even harder into the mattress, slamming into her sex, against her clitoris slamming another orgasm into her. She felt him follow after her, his body jerking into hers. His breath chuffed into her throat; a harsh groan fell from him.
For a moment, they lay there together, panting in the aftermath. Damien's hand tenderly cupping the back of her head. He lifted his eyes to meet hers.
"Yes?"
She nodded, unable to speak yet, the breath still coming harshly from between her lips.
He briefly closed his eyes. Relief. Then, slowly, he pulled his body from hers, his softening manhood. Tenderly, he unlocked the handcuffs, kissing each wrist, each ankle. He tossed the cuffs back in the drawer and drew her against him, settled the covers over them. In moments, she was asleep.
Chapter Five
Sasha moaned softly and rolled over in the bed. She wriggled against the sheets, against the incredibly warm body at her back. A sigh of contentment left her throat. Then a deeper sound came behind her, a masculine groan. Hands touched her from behind, caressing her breasts, slipping down to fumble between her thighs. Already wet from a dream—was it a dream?—she opened her legs, sighing when the fingers delved into her sex, collecting moisture to lave her clitoris.
The fingers circled her swelling bud and Sasha opened her legs wider. A sweetness began in her as the fingers pinched her slippery clit then pulled back the hood to massage the center of her passion in earnest. She moaned and circled her hips, feeling a hardness behind her, another body ready for satisfaction. Sasha tilted her ass up, inviting her lover to pierce her with his cock and slake their mutual morning desire.
A broad crown of her lover’s cock nudged her entrance from the back as his fingers continued to stimulate her clitoris. Her body was drowning in pleasure.
“Your pussy feels so good!” The words puffed into the back of her neck as the hard cock slid over her lower lips, sliding into her into her one millimeter at a time. A hand tightened on her hip. Her sex opened eagerly to swallow her lover’s shaft….
Wait! This isn’t a dream.
Sasha’s eyes flew open. She pulled away from the seeking fingers, from the penis inching into her, even though her body was not pleased at all with that decision. She ignored what her body wanted as she sat up in the bed, stared in panic around the unfamiliar place. The lover behind her groaned in disappointment.
What? Where am I?
A massive bedroom with a fireplace at one end and an incredible wall of windows at the other. A man behind her. Sleepy blue eyes, tousled blond hair, a wickedly smiling mouth. He dropped a hand to his hardness, stroking it with a faint plea in his face while Sasha watched. Damien Taylor.
Oh my God!
The night flooded back to her. Damien’s hands on her skin, the thickness of his cock filling her, bringing her satisfaction over and over again while she moaned underneath him and yanked at the handcuffs keeping her captive. Her fucking boss! The man who had the power to ruin her career if what happened between them came out. What the hell was she thinking last night?
But she hadn’t been thinking. She’d been feeling. With the help of the champagne, she had thrown her inhibitions to the wind and reached out for what she wanted. Which happened to be Damien Taylor. After she’d made that first move, he completely took her over, whisking her to his bedroom where he chained her up and fucked her like it was the last night of
their lives. She shivered with the memory of it.
In the bed, Damien muttered something and reached out for her. She couldn’t help but notice he reached out with the same hand that had been stroking his cock. Sasha froze for an instant, overcome by the sudden urge to lick that hand, to crawl back into the bed and into his lap. She wanted him to take her again. Instead, she leapt away, slipping from the bed to find her clothes. She grabbed them up, quickly pulled on her bra and panties, her dress, gripping her heels in her trembling hands.
"Don't go." Damien's voice rumbled from the bed. "Stay here with me. Finish what we started." He touched his cock again.
Sasha turned to look at him. Sleep rumpled, he was impossibly sexy. Blue eyes half-closed, his muscled body bathed in the golden morning light, his erection thick and proud as it nudged his belly. He was absolute temptation in the flesh.
Would it be so bad if she went back into his arms? He was warm and hard, and in those moments before she'd truly known where she was, Sasha had felt safe with him. But safety was an illusion. She knew that better than anyone. If Damien Taylor wanted, he could fire her. He could tell the other jockeys that she had slept within him, in one moment ruining the professional reputation she'd built for herself over the past four years. The Derby win would mean nothing. Her pulse thundered in her ears as panic swamped her.
You idiot!
She stared at Damien again who lay in the bed watching her, his eyes still clouded from sleep. He repeated his invitation for her to stay, this time sitting up in the bed, shoved a hand roughly through his hair.
“Last night was good for both of us,” he said in a voice still gritty from sleep. “Spend the morning with me. I’ll make you breakfast and introduce you to my horses.” A smile touched the corner of his mouth.
At the mention of horses, Sasha flinched. Thinking once again about the shaky position of her career as a jockey with Taylor Stables or anywhere else if word ever came about her spending the night in Damien Taylor’s bed.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have done this. Coming here with you last night was a mistake." Sasha shook her head, sending her loose hair flying around her face and shoulders. "This can't happen again."
Damien’s eyes narrowed. “Sasha—”
Before he could say anything else, she quickly turned and left, dashing from the bedroom and down the stairs. She almost ran into a woman in a maid's uniform, stopping her headlong dash at the last minute to avoid knocking her down.
"Excuse me!" She ran for the exit by instinct, not quite sure where it was.
"Miss! Miss!"
She heard the voice but ignored it as she walked quickly toward what she assumed was the front door. A man in a black and white uniform appeared in the front hallway, blocking her toward the door. She gave him a narrow-eyed glance, kept walking, determined to push past him if he tried to stop her.
"Mr. Taylor advised me to give these to you, miss." He held up a set of keys. Her keys. "He had your car brought back from the party last. It's waiting in the driveway in the driveway for you."
Sasha stammered her thanks, grateful that she wouldn't have to waste money on getting a cab. She ran from the house and found her car waiting for her in the wide circular driveway. She threw her heels in the passenger seat, jumped behind the wheel, and started the car with fingers that still trembled.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!
How could she have been so incredibly stupid? Getting drunk and sleeping with her boss was the worse things she could have possibly done to herself and her career. The other jockeys would laugh at her, would scorn her for being so weak, if they ever found out what happened between her and Damien.
That’s why they’re never going to find out. Her hands tightened even more about the steering wheel as the car shot down the tree-lined road. And it’s never going to happen again.
Sasha drove, not caring where she was going as her mind careened from one thought, one memory, to the next. Memories of being in Damien’s arms. The party last night when he had been so solicitous, bringing her glass after glass of champagne.
It was his fault. He had intentionally set out to seduce her, getting her drunk so he could have a young piece of tail to keep him from being too bored at the party. Fuck him!
But even as the poisonous though shot through her, she remembered the feel of his body from the night before, his incredible power and control over her, the way he had made her body explode with pleasure again and again. She shifted against the seat, and winced at the tenderness between her legs. It had felt too incredible to have him inside her, over her. But that didn’t matter, she swore. It didn’t matter at all.
Chapter Six
Damien’s bed had been warm. Sasha could not get that thought out of her head as she made her way from the parking lot of her apartment to her little studio with her own bed. Her cold bed. With each step away from the car, away from him, she remembered the look on his face as she had run away from him. Disappointment. Resignation.
At her apartment door, Sasha fumbled at the lock with her keys while clutching her shoes against her chest with one hand. But her hands were still trembling in reaction to her morning encounter with Damien Taylor, even after what should have been a calming drive home. The keys fell to the ground, playing across the welcome mat the previous tenant had left behind. She cursed softly and bent to retrieve them. Her shoulder bumped into the door. It creaked open.
What the hell?
She grabbed her keys and straightened in a sudden panic, her mouth going dry as she thought of all the possibilities of what could have happened in her apartment. A burglar. Someone waiting inside to kill or rape her. A rabid raccoon. Staring inside the sunlit studio through the door left slightly ajar, she reached across her body for the strap of the purse normally there. She blinked and looked down.
Dammit!
No purse. No phone. No one to call for help. She must have left her purse at Damien's house, probably on his bedroom floor along with her damn pride. She tightened her hands around her keys, looking left and then right. It was early. Barely seven in the morning. Her apartment complex was a ghost-town this early on a Sunday, the walkways between the one-story bungalows empty of life except for a few feral cats prowling the lawns for food and each other. Everything was probably all right anyway. She was just worrying too much. Sasha swallowed.
I probably forgot to lock the door in the excitement of winning the Derby and being invited to Damien's party.
She slowly pushed open the door and crept in, excepting the worst. But everything was just as she left it. Her small jewelry case on top of the dresser where she kept the few valuable pieces she owned. The small flat screen she'd splurged on a few years ago was still attached to the wall. Nothing was ransacked. Everything was as she had left it the night before.
Yeah, I probably just forgot to lock it last night.
She closed the door behind her, leaning against it in relief. She closed her eyes and, for a moment, a picture of Damien flashed across her mind. In his bed, naked, his mouth and cock ready for her kisses. Her eyes snapped open. No. No. No. Annoyed with herself, she turned and locked the door, dropped the keys on the hook, put her shoes neatly side-by-side to the right of the door on the small mat with the house slippers she sometimes wore at home.
She straightened and took a deep breath. Glad that her home was still hers and that nothing had happened to it while she had been out making the biggest mistake of her life.
After last night's...adventures, it felt good to be enclosed within her own four walls again. The posh penthouse party with its thousands of square feet and jaw-dropping view of the city had made her feel outside her own skin. But with a couple more hours of sleep in her own bed, she'd be back to her old self again. She started toward the bathroom to wash her face when she heard a hush of sound. Her shower. There was someone using the shower in her bathroom.
Suddenly frantic, she spun toward the kitchen and grabbed one of the knives from the butcher block. It
glinted wickedly in the morning sunlight as she gripped the handle. But it didn't give her much confidence in the outcome if her burglar came at her with a gun.
Shit!
For the first time ever she suddenly wished she had a land line. But wishes couldn't help her now. She gripped the knife tighter and crept toward the bathroom, her palms damp, the pulse knocking wildly in her throat.
Don't be stupid, Cormick. If that's a burglar with a gun, what the hell are you going to do with that little knife but piss him off?
She stopped her advance, torn about what to do. Just then, the shower stopped. She heard the sound of the shower curtain being pulled back, then, incredibly, someone humming.
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