by Alison Tyler
God, it’s not that I want him to notice me as a sexpot or anything. I just wish I’d worn something a little more feminine. Why do you want feminine? the little reasonable voice in my head argues back. Do you want Carter to look at you that way? Like a nice, delectable piece of ass?
No and no.
Crap, I don’t know why I’m obsessing about this. I don’t know why my face is flushed. I don’t know what Tina and Carter are talking about and I have no idea how to respond to Tina’s “That work for you, ’Lexa?”
I look up and blink like your average deer caught in headlights. “Um, sorry. What?”
Carter’s lips twitch and I want to slap him.
“Carter’s asked us over for dinner tonight. Does seven work for you?”
Shit!
“Yeah, yeah. Um, seven works great.”
I look over at him and manage to hold eye contact for all of the five seconds it takes to say, “Thanks for the invite,” and him to reply, “No problem. See you then.”
After he walks away I lean back in my chair and rub my eyes and swear.
“Just freakin’ great,” I tell Tina.
She swivels her chair and leans around the partition between our cubes.
“Oh, it won’t be so bad. I hear he can cook.” She ponders that for a second. “Hmm. He’s hot, he’s got a good job and he can cook. Not a bad catch, huh?” She winks at me.
I roll my eyes at her. “Go for it. I’m sure Glen won’t mind.”
She snorts and pokes me in the arm. “For you. Carter’s about thirty years too young for me, sweetie.”
My face burns but I only shrug. “And he’s about too much of an alpha for me.”
Tina frowns and I see my golden opportunity to get on my soapbox and refute the idea of Carter once and for all. I fold my arms and put on my wisest expression.
“Let me tell you about guys like our dear leader. They’re all a bunch of control freaks. They like to be in charge and tell everybody what to do because, you know, they’re smarter and stronger and better than everybody. Especially us girls. But of course, they can’t say that. Oh no! They’re sooo smooth and chivalrous and effing PC about it that nobody can accuse them of being the Neanderthals they really are!”
I’m flushed and out of breath from the effort of getting it all out and still keeping my voice low enough for nobody to overhear. While I fume, Tina looks at me for a few seconds and then shakes her head.
“Guess I belong to a different generation,” she says with a shrug. “I don’t mind my man taking charge.” Her smile is placid, as if admitting such a thing, saying it out loud is no big deal at all.
I belong to a different generation, and even the merest hint of him being in charge is so, so not okay.
It’s after six, and I’m in the hotel lobby waiting on Tina and waiting on the valet to bring the car up. I’m also regretting my decision to wear a dress, even if it does come down to my knees. It’s black with a retro cherry print. What the hell kind of message does that send? I wish I knew.
My phone rings and I grab it, glad of something to take my mind off myself.
“’Lexa? I’m sorry, hon, but you saw that email about the server outage…?”
Oh crap. I feel my stomach go very, very cold.
“Yeah, I did.”
“Well, I’ve got to get on a call in ten minutes. I’m going to have to cancel tonight.”
Tina, you can’t do this to me!
“Oh no. Well, do you need me on too? I can give Carter a call and…”
“No, no! There’s no need to ruin everybody’s night over this. Go ahead. You all have a couple extra cocktails for me.”
As if the whole world is in on the conspiracy, I see the valet pull up with the rental car, dashing my last fervent hope to weasel out of this. Cursing everyone in I.T. who might even remotely have had responsibility for that server, I hang up with Tina and get behind the wheel.
At least John from mobilization will be there. He’s about as much fun as a wake, but at least when he leaves I can too. Maybe this evening will be mercifully short. I head out of the city as the sun goes down in a glorious burst of color, and I turn up the radio, open the moon roof. I smile. Maybe it won’t be so bad after all.
After I ring the bell I wait for a minute or two, admiring the remodeled ranch-style single-story with its wrought-iron fence and perfect flower beds. It must have cost a fortune out here, but trust Carter to buy a house worthy of bragging rights. I start to think that maybe he isn’t there and I take my phone out, ready to call him, but the door opens.
His hair is wet and slick with water, not gel, and he’s hastily buttoning his shirt cuffs. I can feel the damp heat of his skin and smell his body wash. I sniff even though I don’t mean to. It’s that trendy stuff, with those commercials where some muscled scruffy guy is getting chased by a bevy of panting girls. I’m surprised Carter uses it.
“I’m sorry. I’m running late,” he says with a smile as he lets me in. I shake my head and smile back, say it’s no big deal.
I have to walk right by him to enter, and there’s just an inch of space between our bodies. Damn, he smells good. But he’s Carter, I remind myself. And I don’t like him.
I follow him into the kitchen and lean against the wall as far away from him as I can get without making it obvious. I notice he isn’t wearing shoes or socks, just slippers. He has long toes, like his fingers. Why that should matter, I honestly don’t have a clue.
“Tina had to cancel. She got stuck on a call over that server issue.”
He nods as he gets out a bottle of wine and starts to open it. “She messaged to let me know. You’d think if they were taking a piece of something out they’d know where to put it back, but…” He rolls his eyes and shrugs. “Fucking I.T.”
I laugh, I can’t help it. I had every intention of being an unfriendly bitch, but the kitchen smells wonderful and the windows are open to the warm night and hell… I just can’t.
“My sentiments exactly,” I say as I take the glass from him and smile.
“John canceled too,” he says. “Had to get his kids tonight, so I guess it’s just us.”
I look up. He’s joking, got to be.
“I’ll try to make it as painless as possible,” he says with a crooked smile. “Besides, Tina said you love garlic mashed potatoes.”
Before I can reply, he disappears in the direction of the dining room and reappears with plates and silverware in one hand and his laptop in the other.
“I figure since it is just us we can eat in here and then go over the presentation for Tuesday. I’d like your input to the last set of changes I made.”
Now we’re back on familiar ground. This is the Carter I know and love to hate.
Happy again, I help him set the kitchen table. He spoons an extra-large helping of potatoes onto my plate and I protest that I shouldn’t be eating that many carbs.
“So what? Indulge. You can afford to.”
He says it offhand, typical Carter, but to my shame I blush.
This can’t be. I’m not attracted to this man in any way. But as he comes to sit at my elbow, still smelling of sexy body wash, reaching for the meatloaf that I have to admit is better than my mother’s… I’m not so sure.
By the time we’re through with eating and he puts the laptop between us, moving his chair around so that we can both see the screen, I realize my nipples are hard. Have been all through dinner. Over Carter.
I push my wineglass away. The last thing I need is alcohol. My judgment is already obviously impaired. Even so, when he asks me a question, I fumble over the answer. I wish now I’d worn something other than this cotton dress. I’m terrified he’ll pick up on my arousal the same way I’m picking up on his maleness, his nearness.
The desire that’s always been there no matter how much I’ve denied it.
“Are you okay?”
I glance at him, only making eye contact for a second before looking away.
“Sure.
I’m fine.”
“Do you need a glass of water?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m really okay, Carter. Thanks.”
He shrugs and we go back to working, but I can’t concentrate.
I keep staring at his lips when he talks. I want them on my clit, which is now painfully aroused and tingling with anticipation. I bite my knuckle and stare at the papers, mumbling vague “mmm-hmms” in response. Trying to remind myself he’s an arrogant asshole. Finally he shuts up.
“Alexa, you’re not paying attention.”
I sigh. “I know. I’m just not focused. Can we take a break and look at it again tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
He lapses into silence, but I’m still avoiding eye contact with him. I nod and stand.
“I guess I should go. It’s after nine,” I say.
“No. I don’t think so.”
My head comes up and I stare at him, trying to gauge the tone in his voice. He rises slowly to his feet, looking me up and down.
“Sorry…what?”
My heart is beating too fast. He looms over me and I’m suddenly a little scared of the look in those green eyes.
“I have some other items I want to cover with you,” he says.
He takes a step closer and instinctively I back up.
“What items?” I ask.
He laughs. I’ve seldom heard Carter laugh, but it’s a great sound. I feel it in the tips of my toes. He laughs as he reaches for me and grabs my arms. Spinning me around, he crushes my back to his chest and runs a hand down my chest to my breasts. Squeezes hard, and I gasp.
“No.” The word comes out automatically, but I feel his grip tighten in response.
“No? You don’t say no to me, Alexa.”
His hand moves down to my crotch and he begins stroking one finger between my thighs, through my skirt. His aim is just a little off and the tease of his touch almost on my clit is maddening. At first I think I’m going to shift, move my hips to guide his touch to the right place, but instead I decide I want to see what will happen if I remain unwilling.
I decide I like this hot, cruel Carter.
“Let me go,” I say, wriggling in a genuine effort to get away, but I realize with a tinge of real nervousness that he isn’t going to release me.
“I don’t think so, darling.”
His hand moves to my thigh, slides up under the skirt. “You know what I think?”
He forces his hand between my legs, which I’m squeezing together as tightly as I can. Rubs lace against wet flesh.
“I think you want me to fuck you, but good.”
“No!”
I jerk away, but his grip only halfway loosens. He grabs my arms and we crash against the table, scattering silverware every which way. I make the effort to twist and struggle, but his hands are a vise on my arms. Well, not entirely. If I had true fear-fueled adrenaline pumping through me, if I really tried, I could break free.
But I don’t. He folds my arms behind me and then flips me over, moving between my legs. He’s flushed and gorgeous and so, so dangerous.
Does he know the game I’m playing? Or does he think my resistance is genuine? And I don’t know which turns me on more. I don’t really care. I just want this.
My arms really do hurt and so my eyes are watering just a little. I squirm and whimper.
“Carter, please.”
I see him hesitate just a split second and I bite my lips, worried I’ve playacted too far, but after nerve-wracking seconds where it seems like eons pass while he studies my face, he smiles and shakes his head. That’s the moment I know. That’s the moment he knows. It’s the moment we cross the line and begin to play in earnest.
“You’ve been a hot little tease for the last time. This time there is no getting away.”
He lifts my skirt again. With one simple yank, he rips my panties off. Granted, they were lace and not of the sturdiest variety. Granted, I wore them on purpose, just so that I would know I had them on, not because I expected him to ever have reason to know. But he tore them with one try.
He drops the ruined cloth on the floor and I manage a sob. Maybe it’s even convincing.
“I’m sorry if I came across the wrong way. Please don’t do this.”
He laughs again and kisses my neck, soft kisses. He nibbles the skin.
“Don’t? That’s not what your body’s telling me,’Lexa.”
He’s never shortened my name, even though everyone else in the office does. Never. My little sob of excitement-disguised-as-fear sounds really genuine this time.
“It’s just a physical response,” I whisper. “I don’t want you like this.”
He lifts his head. Raises one eyebrow at me. With one hand, he grabs the neckline of my dress and rips. Shit, he’s strong. I’m tearing up again, a little bit with pain, a little bit with nerves. There is no going back now.
He pushes my bra down, baring my breasts with their hard nipples, elevated by my arms tucked under my back.
“I think you do, ’Lexa,” he says, stroking my nipple with one lazy finger, and my clit tightens and throbs, longing for that same touch. He pinches the nipple and I suck my breath in. Then he pinches the other nipple.
“I think you want me rough.” He pauses and smiles, still playing with my exposed breasts and making my wet cunt thrum with pleasure. “Maybe some part of you really doesn’t. But right now,” his voice gets soft and husky, “I think she’s sold you out.”
I shake my head, but he sees my gaze stray to his crotch. He smiles and reaches for his fly.
“Bad girl, ’Lexa.”
His weight presses me into the desk as his cock pushes at the lips of my cunt. I wriggle and beg, begging for him even though I’m hoping it sounds like resistance. I want to play all the way. I want to play it right.
My gasp of shock when he pushes into me isn’t feigned at all. It’s been a while—okay, longer than I care to admit. And his cock is a burning, aching invasion. I writhe against it as he begins fucking me, and I feel my juices slick between our grinding flesh.
“Carter, please.”
“Don’t beg. You’ll make me come,” he whispers.
So I resort to soft whimpers against his shoulder. I can’t lie still under him. Even if I could bring myself to, my cunt would still tighten around him with every thrust.
“You’re enjoying this,” he says, his lips hovering over mine, brushing my nose and my cheeks as he moves in me.
I shake my head.
“No?”
“No.”
His thrusts slow down. Still driving the entire length of his cock into my cunt, but slower. Slower. Excruciatingly slow.
“You don’t want this?” he whispers.
“No.” No, don’t slow down. Don’t stop. I want to urge him, plead with him to keep fucking me, but that’s not how this goes.
“What? I didn’t quite hear that.”
“No!”
He starts to laugh. He laughs and kisses my cheek and then in one, sudden, devastating motion, pulls out of me. He stands back, erect cock glistening as he contemplates my exposed, aroused state.
“I don’t know what to do with you, ’Lexa. You’re defiant and you’re lying to me.”
I stare at him, thinking I’ve never seen him this disheveled, rumpled. Hair mussed, fly undone. Both of us way over boundaries we didn’t even acknowledge existed before. I wonder just how far this is going to go. I don’t think I care.
I struggle to push myself up. My wrists and elbows protest the efforts to force them out of their cramped misery and make them work as they should again, but I get to my feet. I stand before him and somehow manage to push the remnants of my dress and bra off with fingers that shake like leaves in a September wind.
He nods approval. My guess was right. But then, I know him. I’ve always been able to manage upward, I guess.
“Good girl,” he says. “But you know you need to be punished?”
I nod. I figured as much. I have a
request of my own, however.
“Carter?”
“Yes?”
I bite my lip. What if asking is the wrong thing? What if I anger him? What if I ruin it all? God, I don’t know the rules and I shouldn’t be here!
“I …I want to take your shirt off.” I can’t look at his eyes, so I drop my gaze to the offending shirt. Swallow hard. “Please.”
He laughs. I feel his fingers stroking my cheek, my neck.
“Would that please you, ’Lexa?”
“Yes.” It’s just a whisper.
“All right. You may take my shirt off.”
Deep breath. Relief so immense it hurts. I unbutton his shirt, letting his cock rub against my stomach all the while, and he sighs.
“God, you’re so soft.”
I smile at his praise and, suddenly inspired, I kiss each of his wrists as I undo his shirt cuffs. I slide the shirt off his shoulders and then lift his T-shirt over his head. I press my lips to his chest, kissing downward to his navel as I sink to my knees, but when I reach his cock, I feel my hair being yanked backward. He looks down and smiles, shaking his head.
“No.”
He pulls me to my feet and leads me to the kitchen window, turns me to face the screen and the cool night air blowing in. After the heat of the kitchen, it feels cold on my naked body.
“Hands up.”
I put my hands on the window frame and stand trembling, knowing that anyone looking in can see me like this. And I can’t see them.
He leans close to me, warm chest against my skin, lips against my earlobe.
“If you cry out, the sound’s gonna carry for miles. This is a pretty tame neighborhood. Normally.”
I hear the laughter in his voice. He’s loving this. My clit tingles at the thought.
It only gets better when he slaps my bare ass, tightening and tingling at the ripples of impact from each blow. At least for the first dozen, and then the pain kicks in. Stinging pain, making me twist and pull away. But he pulls me back, one hand cupping my belly to hold me in place as he spanks me with the other.
I scream silently, lips parted so that I can suck in gasps of precious air between each slap, and my cunt is tight with need that builds and builds and never finds release. His punishment is just harsh enough to bring me misery and just slow enough to get me aroused like I’ve never been before. And every now and then he lets his hard cock brush my sore ass, reminding me. Tormenting.