Into My Arms

by Lia Riley

  I glance down at my business wear. “Swimsuits?”

  He stands and walks toward the broken glass, collecting shards. I stare for a moment, realizing he’s dismissed me before I turn and walk away. My heart races even as my brain flatlines. All the doors on the second level are closed except for the third on the left. Does he employ elves that obey his every command? How could he have had any idea that I’d come tonight? Nothing makes sense.

  The room is big, almost as big as my two-bedroom apartment. The walls are painted a sea-glass blue and the king-sized bed is laden with oversized ivory pillows, the thick comforter soft and inviting. Exhaustion should be overwhelming seeing as it’s after midnight, but apparently one can survive on ramen fumes, ice cream, and adrenaline, or maybe it’s sexual tension propelling me forward.

  I open the closet and gasp. So many clothes, all with tags. Cute outfits. The exact sort of thing I would buy. I check a size and recheck it again. Eight. A rush of emotion hits me. My size too.

  How could he…?

  But would he…?

  Wait. Hold the phone.

  Okay, this is officially weirder than the weirdest of the weirds. I turn back to the bed and change of plan. I need to lie down for a second. There’s that cell I can call if I’m too unnerved, and this situation is definitely borderline. I cover my face with my hands, peeking at the ceiling through my fingers. He’s more than watched me on that little camera of his. He’s studied every inch of my body, memorized my shape to perfection.

  Z doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who yields to impulses very often. What to me appears like a random evening is more likely than not the by-product of a carefully scripted adventure. Who knows how long he’s plotted this?

  And is that flattering? I sit and stare at the window, my own face reflected back in the glass like a see-through ghost. Why me?

  I ask this question a lot. Why did I survive the car accident that killed my best friend? Why did my parents steal my identity? Now add to the list—when a billionaire decided he needed to touch another human body, why did he choose mine?

  Maybe I should be more outraged or at least freaked out.

  Instead, my eyes shoot to the closet and the three hanging swimsuits, each smaller than the next, and then to the closed bedroom door. This is the sort of night for stepping out of comfort zones and heading down the rabbit hole. If I go and meet him by the hot tub, who knows what will happen? But should that be my decision, one thing is as clear as the crystal glass I shattered across his living room.

  Nothing will ever be the same again.

  Chapter Five

  Beth

  I tiptoe onto the patio’s cold flagstones, shivering as fog skims my calves. Z sprawls on a chaise lounge, his features softly lit by the sunken hot tub’s blue light. A dry twig snaps under my bare foot and he turns. That craggily enigmatic face wouldn’t be out of place on a legendary black-and-white film star. He’s got the looks and brood down to a T.

  His broad chest rises and falls and he emits a strange pull, one that forces me to meet his probing gaze even as the fresh night air escapes my lungs and my oxygen-starved mind screams, You keep those secret places shut for good reason. Slam the dead bolt and run, don’t walk, in the opposite direction! But my body is propelled forward, cajoled by a heart that has apparently broken ranks and gone rogue. I want to seek something for myself, something more than paying off a debt, simply trying to hold on and wait for a better tomorrow.

  For once I want that tomorrow to be today.

  Z and I might be trouble, but I came outside expecting as much. Craving the transgression. Waves pound the cliffs as the wind creaks the ancient cypress overhead. My robe opens and I shrug the silk from my shoulders, letting it puddle around my ankles like a cloud. Except for a few scraps of nylon, I’m utterly exposed while he’s still in his business suit. The cocoa-colored string bikini makes it appear almost as if I’m wearing nothing because my skin’s naturally olive hued. I’ve never been in anything this skimpy and resist the urge to fiddle with the ties on my low-rise bottoms.

  Z finally breaks the silence, clearing his throat. “You aren’t shy.”

  “My body is my body.” I pad to the edge of the hot tub and stand in the wafting steam, hyperaware of his appraising gaze boring into my skin. He doesn’t look away. I’m not sure he even blinks. When I dip my toe in, concentric rings ripple across the water. Z appears to like me for my surface, but what about everything below? Do I want this to be more? Do I want him to look deeper?

  My whole life people have called me pretty. Mom used to bestow the compliment as if it were the highest form of praise. Maybe I am and that’s fine, but honestly, I want to be a hell of a lot more than that.

  “You remind me of someone,” he murmurs, more to himself than me.

  I do? Talk about a cold-water moment. I’m a substitute for someone else he’d rather have here than me. “Who?”

  “Someone from before.” He shakes his head once as if doing so will erase his past as easily as an Etch A Sketch. The flat way he presses his mouth closed makes it clear the topic is not open for discussion.

  “Before what?”

  A noisy exhalation is his only answer.

  We aren’t in his office anymore. However much he wants to be in control and cling to the idea he can dictate the conversation or terms, I’m not buying it. He wants to play, but I have to agree to be the playmate. Power rushes through me as hard pounding as any of those distant waves.

  Time to make my own move.

  “Joining me?” I glance through veiled lashes. He’s ditched the jacket and his crisp white shirt hints at an impressive physique, broad shoulders and a powerful chest, as if he boxes in his free time. Yeah. Wow. Mr. Sexy Serious is all lean muscle and latent strength. Imagine if he shed his formal office wear. The idea of his bare flesh is even more intimate than undressing for him.

  “No.” He rests his chiseled chin on steepled fingers, as impenetrable as a snowstorm except for a quick flash of vulnerability, one that pulls me closer even as his standoffish tone pushes me away.

  Steam rises into the night, and screw it, I’m cold. “Okay, so this is voyeur hour, then,” I scoff. The promise of sultry warm water is too tempting to ignore and a surreal excitement ignites in my belly. Yes. I’ll take the bait. I tiptoe down the steps and sink to the ledge, sighing on instinct as my muscles automatically relax despite the strange situation. It’s as if he’s staring right through me but the way his hand flexes tells me he’s not as immovable as he might otherwise wish to appear.

  “So…” I allow my head to rock against the edge. I’ve tied my hair up but a few tendrils dip into the water, tickling my neck. “Maybe we could talk a bit, get to know each other a little better. Like are you a watch-TV or prefer-to-read-a-book sort of guy? Or what’s your favorite childhood memory, or where would you travel if you could go anywhere?”

  “I am not interested in icebreakers.” Again that push-pull. His voice is devastatingly cruel and yet contains an indisputable edge of yearning, like he’s holding himself back, and all I want to do is break his control.

  I clear my throat, unwilling for him to see the effect he has on me. “No, of course not, because that would be normal, and nothing about any of this is normal.” It’s hard, damn hard, to resist the urge to splash him. “So you don’t want to talk. You don’t want to come in for a soak. How about enlightening me on exactly what it is that you do want?”

  His gaze ignites. “To watch you.”

  My belly trembles even as I keep my features calm, steady even. “Watch me do what?”

  “Have pleasure.”

  A long, throaty laugh erupts from me. The first genuine one I’ve had in recent memory, and gosh it feels good. “Are you serious? Like what? Touch myself?”

  “I would like that very much.” His voice is utterly calm, almost bored, except it must take a lot of control to keep that tone.

  A frisson of anticipation runs through me. I’m struck ag
ain by how handsome he is even as my skin heats beyond the temperature of the water. But going down this path is a one-way ticket to the Land of No Return. How can I show my face at work next week? Worse, how will I be taken seriously while pitching my app? “Nope. No way. Not happening.”

  “No?”

  If I had a string of pearls available, I’d totally clutch them. “I can’t masturbate in front of you.”

  “Oh?” He cocks an eyebrow. “Now you pretend at shyness?”

  “There’s a world of difference between not being shy in a bathing suit and being uncomfortable stroking my private parts in a hot tub while a guy in a suit, a guy I barely know, who also happens to be my boss, watches me.” Even as I say the words, my pussy clenches in a decidedly unprim fashion. Professionalism aside, how many times have I indulged in those strange Zavtra security camera masturbation fantasies? Here is a chance to take it to the next level.

  “Is it the watching or the idea that I’m your boss that bothers you most?”

  I lick my lips. Even though I’m immersed in water, my throat is drier than sawdust. “Um, it all feels a little out of left field. Not to mention the fact that I’ve never before put on a peep show.”

  He considers that for a moment. “Very well. Might this make things easier?” Bending, he taps a button that blends into the surrounding stone and jets hum to life.

  Oh Jesus. I sink over my head. Hot water pummels my body on all sides as I release the last of the air in my lungs. I don’t know what I am doing but for one mad night want to forget who I am. I don’t want to be a perfect girl, the former princess who has lost her crown but still dreams of castles in the clouds. I have always followed scripts and tonight Z has torn up the pages. I don’t know my next lines.

  I break through the surface and wipe my hair off my face. I reach out and place my hands on the sides of the hot tub, my fingers finding purchase on the cold, hard stone, raising my body up enough that there is a clear temperature delineation between the cool ocean air and the hot water lapping my hips. The dichotomy is delicious. Screw it, if he wants this, and I want this, who is it hurting? Why does it have to impact anything with work?

  Because when you mix business with pleasure, you get a Molotov cocktail?

  I switch off my neocortex—don’t need any high-functioning, logical parts of the brain ruining the fun. “You want to watch?”

  His fingers dig into his pant legs.

  “Fine. Then watch.” I spread my legs and the jet strikes me right at the top of my pubic bone. Slowly, I lower until my pussy hovers just off the jet, the force enough to tease but not slam me into orgasm.

  His ragged inhalation is barely audible over the hot bubbling. “You’ve done this before?”

  “Maybe.” A lot. My clit skims the water’s force, enough that it’s good to the point of hurting.

  “Where?” he demands.

  “So you’re not into chitchat unless it’s about me and hot tubs, huh?” I say with a husky laugh.

  He’s out of his chair before I realize he’s moved. Standing above me, he undoes his tie with a careless tug and tosses it over his shoulder.

  “Tell me,” he says. “Please.” With that one muttered word, I’m undone. Something stirs within me, deep and dangerous. He needs this, but so do I.

  “My parents’ house had a hot tub. I figured out the magic of the jets around the time I was thirteen. This is the first way I ever came. I’m a pro. The sheer force of these sorts of orgasms is overwhelming but if I can hold fast, then it will send me over the edge into multiple waves, each more powerful than the next.” My voice has dropped to a low bluesy cadence that has his eyes locked on me like I’ve hypnotized him with just my words.

  His jaw clenches as a low noise tears from his chest.

  “Is that a groan?”

  He rakes a hand through his hair. “What are we doing?”

  “Good question.” I raise my hands in surrender. “I don’t know.”

  “Being near you, it’s as if I’m losing my fucking mind.”

  I open my mouth and close it. No one has ever wanted me like this, not with such a desperate edge, a sharpness that cuts into my heart like an invisible knife. “But it seems like you have all the control. What with bossing people around—”

  “Bossing?”

  “You are a control freak and love it. Don’t try to deny—”

  “I have a vision for how things could be, and only one thing ever stands in the way…”

  “Go on.”

  “People.”

  I shrug. “You’re a dictator.”

  “I’d love to tell you exactly what to do. Command you to slide down those straps to reveal those perfect breasts. I’ve never seen their equal.” His gaze devours me whole and I drop a centimeter lower, breathing fast as pressure radiates through my hips.

  “Let me see.”

  Do I detect a hint of begging? Because I could so get used to that. There’s no power quite like bringing a powerful man to his knees. “What do I get in return?” I ask. “So far, this whole game is all about you. Your curiosity. Your pleasure. If you truly want touch, then you must want more, a connection with another person.”

  A muscle in his jaw tics. “Perhaps.”

  “If that’s true, then you need to give back, not just take, take, take. You can’t always be the boss.”

  “What is it you want?” he asks quietly, a hint that he’d like to give me anything if only he let loose his legendary control.

  I deliberate for a moment, arousal throbbing through me. “A secret.”

  “Secret?” He startles, a tenor of uncertainty entering his voice. “Of what sort?”

  “Something no one else knows.”

  His sudden savage grin should frighten me. I am sure he intends it to. “I have plenty of those.”

  “Good. Then you may watch, and then you must share one with me.”

  “I agree to your terms.” He gestures for me to continue.

  I take a deep breath, prepare myself because in around another five seconds I’ll start coming in front of my boss and after that, he’s never going to see me in the same way. This choice can’t be undone. Three…

  Two…

  One.

  I drop against the jet and the thick stream of water pummels my pussy. His gaze locks on mine and I clench hard and, yep, it’s like I thought. My orgasm is upon me in an instant, tearing through my body in relentless waves. My head rocks back. All I can do or focus on is getting closer to the jet, the force, the power. The whole mad ride, my gaze doesn’t break his.

  His lips part a fraction and he leans forward, so slightly it’s almost as if he’s still, a transfixed statue, but I can’t pretend this isn’t happening. Not when my entire body is pared down to a frisson of pure pleasure. I’m flayed to nothing as this intense sensation radiates from my clit, pulsing through my thighs and tightening my belly, everything gathering to explode, and when I let out a moan, it’s as if the big bang has contracted back to a tiny mass so small it can fit on the head of a pin, only to hurl itself out again, stronger this time. I writhe, riding the water, rocking my pelvis against it, and I should laugh now in sweet victory because Z has lost his cynical demeanor, that hard-ass attitude that demands crisp speech and precision thought at all times. He’s undone as much as me. I can see it in the way his kaleidoscope eyes glue to my body as I give him this, my second orgasm in a row. Not sure I can physically bear more. My body is wrung out and nerves exhausted, but I hate for this moment to end.

  I’m more than a pretty doll to him, something to dress up and smile and be charming. That’s how my parents viewed me until I was discarded like a plaything they no longer needed. Sure, Mom offered a few crocodile tears, but never once suggested actually repaying their debts.

  The longer he stares, the more his gaze picks my locks and opens old doors, wandering those sealed off wings. God, who knows what he’ll find. I’m not even sure if an actual heart remains in my chest or only ash drifting thr
ough charred empty space.

  Those mismatched eyes consume me and orgasm number three takes over, the water like a thousand tiny tongues licking at once, carrying me to a place within myself that I’ve never been. I didn’t know anything could feel this way and the intensity is scary.

  Z hasn’t laid a finger on me, but that doesn’t mean he’s not touching me.

  I sink down, spent and shaking. The French idiom for orgasm is la petite mort, translated literally to “a little death,” and yeah, I’ve died a little, but am also more alive than ever before. It’s as if I’ve slammed back into the world, a place where colors exist and there are things to look forward to and smile about. For too long I’ve ignored this place because I am tired of being let down. But tonight I feel.

  I fucking feel.

  When the tears come, I can’t hold back, collapsing against the hot tub with a moan pulled deep from within my body, almost animalistic. The ragged keen fills the night and I press my face to the stone and release everything pent up inside me for the past few years. I cry and cry until I’m wrung physically and emotionally dry.

  Z lifts me from the water with two strong hands. Gently, he drapes the robe over my shoulders and gathers me like a child, cradling me against his hard body as he strides into the house, up the stairs. It’s not until we’re entering my room that I realize…he’s touching me.

  The shock of his skin against mine radiates into my bones.

  I don’t say a word. I barely breathe as he settles me on the bed, awkwardly yet tenderly plumping a pillow beneath my head.

  “I’m sorry about that.” I wipe my eyes. “Tears are sort of a buzzkill.”

  “It was gorgeous,” he murmurs. His tone is gentle, so utterly out of character that this could be a dream. For the rest of my tenure at Zavtra Tech, I’ll be haunted by a stunningly real fantasy about the time my sexy boss whisked me away for a dirty weekend.

  “You touched me.” I eye the thick bulge in his suit pants. He doesn’t seem to mind.