by Nikki Sloane
“I’m going to come,” I half-pleaded.
“No, you’re not.”
My elbows gave out, and my back was cold against the granite, Logan not relenting or giving permission. Need clawed inside me and screamed for release. I had to focus elsewhere. Fucking anywhere else. Do not think about the tongue lapping at you. My head fell to one side and I latched onto the first thing I saw.
A framed poster on the wall. It wasn’t an artistic photograph or reproduction of famous artwork. It was an advertisement for a sports car. I’d worked with him long enough to recognize his style anywhere.
“When did you . . .” No, no questions. God only knows what kind of delicious punishment he’d give me right now. “I’ve never seen that one before. It’s amazing.”
He lifted for a split second to see what I was talking about, and his eyes softened with the compliment. “I did it right before you started.” When his head dipped back down, I grabbed a fistful of his soft hair, tunneling my fingers through it.
It was like my praise lit a match inside him, for he was much more intense and urgent, somehow as desperate for the orgasm as I was. He put one long finger inside me and curled it back, quickly finding the spot that would send me tumbling out of control.
“Please, I need to. . .” I gasped.
“Say my name when you do it.”
Pleasure slammed into me, burning across my skin, across every nerve. I jerked and my knee sent one of the wine glasses plummeting to the tile floor, followed by the sound of glass shattering.
I think I would have screamed his name regardless of his demand.
“You know, I have neighbors,” he teased, releasing his hold on my panties, and they snapped back in place.
I fought to return to earth. “Sorry about the glass.”
His strong hand closed around one of my wrists and he helped me sit up. “Don’t worry about it, that’s my fault for letting you come.”
“For letting me . . .” Shit, phrase it as a statement. It was like some twisted version of Jeopardy. “You say that like you don’t want it to happen.”
His hand threaded into my hair and pulled back, tilting my head up to him. “I’d prefer it if you only came on my cock.”
It could have been his words or the recent orgasm, but I shuddered.
“Would you like that?” His face was seductive and powerful. “To come on my cock again?”
I didn’t have to do this; I’d made the money I needed to. I could leave the envelope with my name scrawled on it on his countertop since our business transaction was complete. I’d come home with him to get answers, but now I had a new goal. What he was asking . . . what my boss was asking, was if I wanted to sleep with him.
“Yes.”
Oh, fuck, yes.
chapter
SEVEN
He didn’t clean up the wine or the broken glass. He ordered me to wrap my arms and legs around him so he could carry me into his darkened bedroom. He took one knee and laid me back on the perfectly made queen-sized bed, stepping away to slip off his suit coat and disappeared into the walk-in closet.
The light flicked on, and I rose to sit, watching him. Fingers worked the buttons of his dress shirt, cuffs first and then to the collar, and down. When it was peeled off and placed on a hanger, my eyes lusted over every delicious curve of his muscles. My brain-to-mouth filter stopped working. “Holy shit, you’re gorgeous.”
He blinked, like he was stunned. Surely a man like him had heard that or something similar before, but then again, I’m sure it’s always nice to hear.
“I believe that’s my line,” he said. “Take off your dress.”
Why did I like this? A man ordering me around was supposed to incur my fiery wrath. Instead I lifted onto my knees and obeyed, dragging the fabric up and over my head, tossing it aside so I was kneeling on the bed in only my panties, my breasts bared so he could fuck me with those fascinating eyes.
“When you came in on Wednesday,” he undid his belt and stepped out of his pants, “I didn’t recognize you until you sat down at your desk.” He approached the bed, locking a hand onto my hip where the panties clung and began to ease them down. “I almost had to jack off under my desk after you left my office.”
What? This side of him was shocking and exciting. “That would have been highly inappropriate.”
He smirked. “Oh, you think so?”
While he was peeling my underwear down, I shoved a hand beneath his boxers and wrapped my fingers around his dick. Maybe it was a side effect from the straps at the club, but I loved the feel of him. I loved being able to touch, to feel him jerk in my hands, to get to tease him as he did to me.
“I want to go down on you,” I said, not knowing where that came from. I mean, I liked doing that, but it wasn’t something I usually announced.
“What a surprise,” he said, deadpan. “I want that, too.” He sat with his back against his headboard and discarded his boxers, his dick standing at attention. I’d already forgotten how large he was, and he must have noticed the concern on my face.
“What?”
“You’re huge,” I said, uneasy.
“This shouldn’t be new information to you.”
Oh, I didn’t know he could be funny. “How am I going to fit that in my mouth?”
He froze. “Was that a question?”
“Nope.”
I didn’t give him time to react or think of a way to punish me. I slid down on the bed, opened my mouth as wide as it could go, and took him inside. His breath left in a hiss.
“Seems to fit all right.”
I loved going down on men, loved knowing he wasn’t thinking about anything else but what I was doing to him. I ran my tongue over the velvety head of his dick and began to slide him in and out. Controlling him this way . . . it was addictive.
I used my hands on him, squeezing one hard and pumping him when I took my mouth off for a moment. Then I kept my lips tight and shoved him back inside, making him groan. I sucked and flicked my tongue, doing everything I could to return some of the pleasure he’d given me, pushing thoughts away that this man held sway over my career. I didn’t want to think about the repercussions of this night. He’d started it anyway.
Logan was different when he was in my mouth, under my power. He seemed scattered. Not his commanding self. And he was silent. Usually that’s what I wanted, but not tonight. I could ask him what he liked to encourage him to talk, but that would violate a rule . . . Screw it.
“Do you like fucking my mouth?”
He was breathing heavy and it seemed like he struggled to process the question. An alarm must have gone off in his head because he hooked me under my arms and pulled me off of him. He brought me up, pulling one of my legs across his lap, positioning me over him.
“I like fucking your tight, little pussy better.”
Holy fuck, the things he said. It was such a turn-on. He leaned in and my eyes fell closed, anticipating his kiss. I craved it, and just as the faintest hint of his lips touched mine, they were gone. I moved in, but he turned away. His hands cupped my head and held it tight so he could hover just a breath away.
He knew how badly I wanted his mouth on mine. “Don’t break the rules,” he warned. He put his lips on my neck and sucked. Hard. When he pulled back, he chuckled. “I cannot tell you how unprofessional I think hickeys are.”
I tried to scramble off of him, but he held me tight.
“I’m joking,” he said, “I didn’t mark you. But I could do it other places.”
There was a pulsing ache in between my legs. How did he mean? A hickey somewhere else? Another spanking, maybe this one less playful than the last time? The room felt like it was a thousand degrees. It was dark, but the moon outside was full and bright, and he’d left the light on in the kitchen, which streamed in through the open bedroom doorway. His eyes were warm and intense as they searched my face.
“You’re going to hold back your orgasm because it’ll be better when I allow it.
So, I need to know when you’re getting close.”
“You seem to be pretty aware already.” I was a little annoyed at how quickly he had command over my body.
“I want to push it a little further.” He leaned over to the side table and opened a drawer, retrieving a foil packet. “Green means go, yellow means you’re getting close, and red means stop because you’re right on the verge.”
“You want me to tell you to stop? Yes, that was a question, get over it.”
He tore open the condom wrapper and laughed. “It’s okay. Yeah, I’m trusting you to stop yourself. It’ll be worth it, I promise.” His hand moved between our bodies and he rolled the condom on. His hands were warm on my waist.
“I should probably tell you,” I said, “that I’ve already had more tonight than I’ve ever had, so . . . it might not happen for me.”
“I’m willing to try if you are.” He urged me down so I pressed against him. He was right at my entrance and so hard. God, I wanted him.
“Okay.” I swallowed a breath. Could I do this? “Green.”
He pushed inside me slowly, lowering me down onto him. Although I was already a little sore from earlier, it felt amazing.
“Yellow.” It came out breathless.
“You can’t just say yellow because it feels good.” He gave me a devious smile. “We haven’t started moving yet.”
Then, he started fucking me. I say that because even though I was on top, he was in complete control. He kept one hand on my hip and guided my pace, his eyes locked on mine, while his other hand cupped my breast. His thumb brushed over my nipple, and I arched my back into his touch, enjoying the sensation. I filled my hands with his head, running my fingers through his hair. It was so soft.
“Kiss me,” he demanded. How the hell could I say no to that?
The rock of our bodies together made our kiss spin out of control until it was aggressive and passionate, and I had to tear my lips away from him.
“Yellow,” I gasped. This time he knew it was a real warning.
If he slowed down any, I couldn’t tell. He had both hands on my breasts, squeezing them together and pressing me back enough so he could dip his head down to them and pull a nipple in his mouth. Oh shit, my nipple was like a hard knot and so sensitive I could feel every subtle caress of his tongue.
It came from me firmer this time. “Yellow, Logan.”
Heat was pouring through my body and electricity danced down my spine. So when he nipped at me and thrust hard, it left me with no choice.
“Fuck, red.”
All movement ceased and the only sounds were his steady breathing and my gasps. I sounded like I was drowning, and I felt that way, too. He pulled my face to his and kissed me. His tongue explored my mouth, inviting me to do the same. I did. When the kiss ended, he leaned back and grinned.
“Green?”
“Green,” I whispered against his lips.
Oh man, I was in trouble when his hips began to move again. I set my hands on his shoulders and fought him for control over the pace, but it didn’t really matter. As long as he was sliding in and out of me, it felt too good. I forced myself down on him and widened my knees so I could take him as deep as possible.
“Yellow,” he said, and I froze. A smile bloomed across my face, thrilled to learn this went both ways.
He let me ride him until I got to yellow, and then he took over again. He brought me all the way to red, where my thighs burned and my body begged for release. I didn’t ask for permission; I knew he’d say no. My legs felt like jelly when he helped me off of him and rolled me onto my back.
He was on top, my breasts flattened under his broad chest. I couldn’t believe this man, the one in the office a mere thirty feet from my desk, could be so damn good at what he was doing. I dragged my nails down his back the first time I got to red, and sank my teeth into his shoulder the second. It had been next to impossible to tell him red the last time, my body was clamoring for mutiny from my mind. He’d gotten to red for the first time and lifted himself up on his arms, his gaze on me beneath him. I watched the rise and fall of his chest.
“Please.” I tried not to sound desperate. “No more.”
He didn’t answer me; instead he climbed off and turned me on my side so I was facing the large window, my back against his chest.
“You feel like you go on forever.” I sighed when he slid into me. I closed my eyes, letting lose a tear of frustration.
“Are you ready? It’s going to be intense,” he whispered behind my ear. Like this hadn’t been intense already?
I wouldn’t be able to say it again, and it fell from my mouth broken and shaky. “Green.”
His thrusts were slow and deep until I got to yellow, and then he put a hand on my hip and drove into me.
“Not yet,” he said, slowing.
“No,” I cried.
The hand left my hip, yanked my knee up, and pulled the leg back over him. So he could set his fingers on my clit. The moment he thrust into me, his fingers moved, touching me right on my core.
“Give me what’s mine,” he ordered.
Intense wasn’t a strong enough word when it began. The pleasure was too much and it was painful, stealing my breath away when the sharp edge of the orgasm overtook me. And as the edge faded, the orgasm kept coming, wave after wave of it. He’d stopped moving, maybe to let me ride it out, but when all of my muscles clamped down on him, it pulled him along with me. His hoarse voice rang out in a long groan of my name as he thrust hard and deep.
That only made it better and so much worse. I think I blacked out for a second when he pulsed inside of me. The hand on my clit had slowed but not stopped, and I was so overly sensitive down there that my brain could no longer interpret the pleasure. It felt like pain.
“Stop,” I moaned, still coming. Even the slightest touch from him made my whole body flinch and contract. “Oh god, please.”
“Are you . . . begging me to . . . stop letting you come?” He couldn’t catch his breath, even though his climax was ending. The hand was gone, and finally, the grip of the orgasm released its hold. My hand had a fistful of his comforter, and when I let my hand relax, he pulled out.
I half-laughed, half-sobbed into the pillow beneath my head. The bed shifted as he rolled, or collapsed onto his back. After a moment of rest, I heard him pull a Kleenex out of the box on the nightstand. He must have gotten rid of the condom.
“Are you okay?” He slipped an arm around me, turning my chin toward him. “You’re shaking.” His eyes were full of concern.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I said. “Don’t expect me to walk anytime soon, though. I need to lie here and die for a little while.”
“Do I need to tell you how fucking amazing that was? Because it was.”
“It was just okay for me.”
He gave me a knowing look, his eyes gleaming. “I’ll have to try harder next time.”
Next time? I wanted to ask him what exactly he had in mind. But I couldn’t. My body was too spent to risk anything and it would be morning in a few hours. I could ask him anything then. That is, if I was spending the night. Which I was going to need to do; I wasn’t going to be able to stand for a while.
He curled me into his arms without saying a word. A strong hand brushed the hair on my neck out of his way. Logan kissed me there, and I passed out.
chapter
EIGHT
I was in my boss’s bed. Naked. The curtains on his picture window were open, and it was bright as day in the room. Day, not morning. Oh my god, what time was it? I rolled over and looked at his alarm clock. It was nine something. That wasn’t so bad, but there was a very naked Logan Stone beside me, snoring softly. The one who’d mentioned he wanted to promote me. He looked good in a suit, but better like this. Peaceful, sexy . . . wait, no. Terrifying.
I forced myself to roll over and admire the other view in the room. Like the living room, it was floor-to-ceiling glass, and there were no buildings in between his and the beach. No o
ne could see in here; no wonder he didn’t shut the curtains.
I was sore from the blissful beating he’d put on my body last night. My arms ached from the straps, my abs hurt from holding my legs around him on the table. And the downstairs situation . . . painful, but totally worth it.
But there was no way we were going to be able to have any of those shenanigans this morning, and I suspected when he woke, that was going to be on his agenda. He’d kiss me and that would convince my body to want to endure it. I think his kiss could get me to do anything.
I sat up gingerly and rose to my bare feet, padding across the carpet to his side of the bed where my panties and dress were in a heap on the floor. I had no intention of leaving. I just needed a layer of clothes on for protection. To slow me down in case he woke and set his lips on mine.
My eye shadow and mascara had relocated to under my bottom lashes, and I wiped it away with my fingers, doing my best to not look like I’d had the brains fucked out of me last night. My hair was flat and listless. I could go get the hair tie in my purse I’d left on the kitchen counter.
Logan was still out cold. In the corner of the bedroom, there was a small, upholstered chair. A thought formed in my head. He’d wake eventually, discover I wasn’t in the bed, and when he sat upright, I’d be waiting for him in that chair. Dressed, legs crossed, and holding the upper hand, ready to demand answers. I practically ran to my purse in the kitchen.
My idea must have distracted me from the sound of glass being swept up into a dustpan, so when I came out of the bedroom and she stood, we both startled each other.
“Good heavens,” she exclaimed. She was a brunette with short hair, friendly eyes, and a few extra pounds around her waist. I’d guess she was probably in her fifties. She certainly wasn’t his housekeeper – the resemblance was apparent. Logan’s mother was cleaning up the glass I’d broken when her son was going down on me. I wanted to melt into the floor and disappear forever.
“You must be Logan’s girlfriend,” she said. “The one he refuses to let me meet.”