The Dare

by Lauren Landish

  “You will.” Colton’s voice is thick with want and hidden humor. I still can’t believe he had no idea I was crushing on him as he strutted through the lobby. The clueless, hyper-focused man needed to be clubbed over the head—or flashed my naked ass, apparently—to get his attention. “For now . . . just hold still.”

  I do as he says, not moving as his fingers trail over my shoulders and down my arms, goosebumps pricking my skin right behind his touch. Coming back up my arms, he explores my back and neck with just his fingers but still setting my body on fire by the time he starts lowering my zipper.

  My dress slithers down my body, leaving me in just my lingerie, stockings, and heels. “My God, you’re stunning.”

  His bald admiration makes me flush with pride, and I lift my chest a little bit, preening for him under his gaze. Colton steps around me, looking me up and down as he slips his suit jacket off and undoes his tie. “I want to undress you.”

  Colton surprises me by shaking his head, grinning as he hands me his tie. “I have a different idea. Cover your eyes with my tie,” Colton dares, leaning in again until I can feel the heat from his body though we’re not touching . . . yet. “Then we’re going to play X marks the spot.”

  A game? He’s learning . . . fast, and I like it.

  “I think you mean G spot? I’ve never heard of an X-spot, though if you want to find mine, I wouldn’t mind a bit of a wild goose chase.”

  “Goose chase?” he echoes like a parrot.

  I smile. “It’s an expression. It means running after something that isn’t there . . . like an X-spot.”

  He smiles, getting it. “Not a goose chase.” The phrase still sounds like a foreign shaping of his tongue, like the expression amuses him. “X marks the spot. You will think of a spot but not tell me. I’ll test to find out where the spot is, with my fingers, my lips, my tongue, touching you wherever I think it might be, with whatever I want. We play until I find the X.”

  “Or the G?” I barter.

  “You're not a very good listener, are you?” he teases. “You’re not supposed to tell me the place you’re thinking of or it ruins the game.”

  “Just to be clear here, finding my G-spot is never, ever going to ruin a game. It’s basically a touchdown, field goal, score, hole in one every time.”

  His lips do that twitchy thing again, like he’s barely holding back from laughing at me.

  I trace the tip of his tie over my skin and along the edges of my bra. “Okay, so other than the obvious worship and G-spot discovery—that’s a hint, by the way—what do I get if I win?”

  “Damn near anything you wish,” Colton promises me. “Well? Are you up for it?”

  Oh, it’s on. Biting my lip, I place Colt’s tie around my eyes, cutting off all light. At the last minute, I pull it back down, lifting one sculpted brow his way. “No feet. No shame, but that’s definitely not my kink, and your feet have been in dirty socks all day. Not to mention whatever hazards were on that putt-putt course. Gross.” I shudder exaggeratedly and curl my own toes, breaking the tension of the moment when Colton laughs out loud.

  Sex, or not quite sex, doesn’t have to be the Serious Thing people make it out to be. It can be fun, filled with heat and humor. Or at least that’s my experience.

  Having said my piece, I lift the fancy silk tie back up over my eyes, shutting out the light once again. I hear a shuffling of sound and I realize that he’s shucked his clothes. I’m naked . . . well, nearly naked in my lingerie and stockings, with a nude Colton Wolfe, his tie blindfolding me as we prepare to play what I think might become my new favorite game.

  He starts easy, his fingertips tracing my ears and his tongue licking a line along my collarbone. It relaxes me, and soon, I’m having fun, any trepidation forgotten.

  But then Colt starts really playing. His fingers work at the clasp of my bra, sliding it down my arms before his mouth engulfs my right nipple and I surge upward in surprised need. He lets go too soon, driving me crazy. I can feel the air around me, heated but empty, and I try to figure out where he’s standing.

  To my left. No . . . to my right. I don’t sense him there, either.

  I feel a nudge along my hip, something blunter than a finger.

  “Oh, my God, is that your toe? Did you stick your big toe on my hip?” I laugh as I say it, hearing how crazy it sounds a second after it leaves my lips.

  His answering laugh only makes me blush beneath the blindfold. “If you think I can get my big toe up to your hip from here, you might be sorely disappointed in my lack of flexibility, Elle. I’m not exactly yoga-bendy.”

  I giggle. “You said bendy. That doesn’t seem like a Colton Wolfe word.”

  “Touché.”

  “Yeah, that’s more like it. Fancy and French.”

  This game is weird and silly, and I love that he came up with it. The serious and staid Colton Wolfe playing putt-putt and not just seducing me but being playful as he does so. I like it. A lot.

  I take matters into my own hands, reaching out to find something long, thick, and incredibly hard lined up against my belly.

  Colton hisses.

  “So, not your big toe then?” I say coyly.

  “You’re forgetting the rules,” he says gruffly as I stroke him from base to tip. “I’m the one finding the X.”

  I lick my lips, knowing he probably sees the flirtatious movement. My God, he’s huge. I can feel the head of his cock pressing against my inner wrist even as I push down to his base, and as I jack him slowly, he hums in pleasure. “You didn’t say anything about distracting you from your hunt, though. I play dirty. I’ll provide the distraction, and you . . . you keep searching.”

  “Play dirty? I’ll show you playing dirty.”

  It’s the only warning I get before I’m swooped up into his arms and flung through the air. I have a split-second shock of freefall before I bounce on his tennis-court-sized bed. A second later, my legs are resting on his bare, broad shoulders and he’s running his fingertips along my inner thighs.

  “Oh, shit,” I say huskily. I’m not even going to pretend he isn’t rocking my world just by being between my thighs, and he hasn’t even really touched me yet. “Do you want a clue about the X?” I ask, but there’s a begging plea in my tone for him to get on with this.

  Fuck, I need him, need this. No matter how crazy it might be, no matter how stupid I might feel tomorrow. Right now? I’d agree to give Tiffany carte blanche on dares for infinity if it’d get Colton to lick my clit. And to be clear? Tiffany can come up with some crazy shit. But I think Colton’s tongue would be worth it.

  “No more cheating. This is my game, Elle.” A tease of punishment paints the edges of the words, and I have to consciously decide whether I want to see what that looks like from Colton or play nice.

  His breath whispers across my core, hot through the satin, and I decide to shut right the hell up and let the man play his search and destroy game.

  His tongue licks slowly along the right edge of my panties. “Is this the X?”

  I bite my lip and shake my head, not trusting my sassy mouth.

  “Here?” he asks, kissing the other edge. I shake again, more than just my head, damn near my whole body, screaming for him to go a little more central and he’d be just right. Like a goddamn Goldilocks bear’s porridge.

  He moves my panties to the side, exposing me to his gaze. Though I’m blindfolded, I can feel his eyes like a palpable caress. “So pretty, Elle. Look how wet you are. All this for me.”

  It’s not remotely a question, and I’m not going to deny that every bit of my arousal is for him. Any denial would be a lie and he’d damn well know it, so why bother? I’m not ashamed of how turned on I am. I’d shout it from the rooftop if I thought it’d get me what I want.

  His finger traces my slit first, circling my clit at the top, and I surge upward at the powerful sensation. I’m completely at his mercy, gone in my own goose chase for pleasure. But I hope there’s an actual goose at the end.
>
  What? My brain is so weird sometimes, but I forget about goose, geese, and every other flying bird when I fly apart under Colton’s fingers and tongue.

  I’ll definitely be adding this to his list of talents, I think as he sucks on the nub of my clit, his fingers deftly and expertly shoving inside my wet heat to tap at my G-spot like he had a fucking map the whole time. Cheater! But I don’t care as long as he keeps doing whatever magic he’s doing.

  “Oh, God, Colton. I’m going to come.” Some women say it nice and polite, like they’re complimenting their partners on doing a good job and to please continue. I growl it out like I’ve been possessed by a demon, threatening a beheading of both of his heads if he dares to stop.

  Sharp tightness clenches my entire pelvis, my pussy clamping tight on his fingers and my hands fisting his hair so he can’t get away. I buck and thrust, riding his mouth wildly as I fly through outer space. I don’t even need the blindfold because my eyes are shut tight as I lose myself to pleasure.

  A fierce quiver takes over my whole body, making me shake and shiver in release. “Wow,” I think I hear Colton whisper. But maybe I’m wrong because suddenly, I’m falling in a blind tangle of limbs.

  “Oh!” I yell out as I come to a rather abrupt and hard stop. I hear an Oof from below me and reach up to remove the blindfold.

  Colton is sprawled out on the floor next to his bed on a fluffy rug, a big grin stretching his lips. He looks like the cat that got the cream, but I got the cat’s tongue so he can be as smug as he wants because I’m still the winner here.

  I’m half laid on top of him. “What happened?” I ask, looking around. The lights are dim, but I’m still adjusting to the brightness post-blindfold.

  “I think I found the X,” he brags. “And then you started shaking so hard, you knocked me over.” He sounds rather pleased with himself so I decide to take him down a notch.

  “That makes it one to one. Unless you concede that I win our battle?”

  I don’t want him to admit defeat. I want that second orgasm, and I want him to have another too. Okay, I want my second one a smidgen more than I care about his. I’ll discuss my selfish lover tendencies with myself later, but right now, I want to do whatever he just did to me again.

  Because that was not an orgasm. That was a freaking unicorn of rainbow-sprinkled epicness that I never knew existed.

  “I want us both to win.” He shifts on the floor, pulling me astride him.

  And I get my first good look at a naked Colton Wolfe.

  Holy hell, he’s like a playground of delights—bumps and ridges I want to trace with my tongue, nooks and crannies I want to suck and kiss, and that thick cock peeking up from where it’s nestled against my pussy. I’m used to appreciating his handsome face, with the chiseled jaw I want to nibble and high cheekbones I want to hold in my hands. But his body only makes him that much more handsome . . . and sexy as fuck.

  I feel him throbbing, his cock trapped between us, and I rub myself up and down. There’s only the thin slip of soaked-through satin stopping him from entering me, but I can tell he remembers the boundaries I set before we began playing and is being careful to uphold them.

  That alone tells me something significant about Colton Wolfe. He may be a machine in the boardroom, a monster in the bedroom, and a black sheep of his family, but he’s a good man underneath it all.

  “Want me to ride you like this until we both come again? So close to fucking, but not . . . quite . . . there.” I’m teasing him, but I’m teasing myself too, and we both groan at how good the friction between us feels.

  “Fuck, Elle . . . yes, ride me.” His fingers make divots in the flesh of my hips as he guides me. Faster and harder, I jerk against him, letting his crown bump at my clit with every thrust, sending pulses of pleasure through my body. “So wet, you’re soaking me.”

  Any other time, I’d probably be embarrassed as hell by that, and maybe later, I will be. Right now, I’m thankful as fuck for every bit of juice I’m spreading along his length and the pre-cum from his cock, too, because it’s only making this slip and slide of almost-sex that much better.

  He reaches up, tangling his fingers in my hair and pulling my face to his. Forehead to forehead, he kisses me hard and hot, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth. Conquering, claiming, devouring. And then he nibbles my earlobe, groaning like it tastes good. I think he has a thing for them, and when his whispers go forceful, I think maybe I do too.

  “Come on me, Elle. Enjoy how good I can make you feel and know it’ll be even better when I get inside you.”

  Fancy promises, but damned if the promise of another go with Colton doesn’t do it for me.

  I cry out his name, bucking and riding him like a mechanical bull I once rode at a shitty bar in college. Forward and back, never losing contact as I pulse over him, hanging onto his shoulders for leverage and dear life as my body spasms and jerks.

  His arms wrap around my waist, fully encircling me and holding me immobile as he takes over, using me to take what he needs. He thrusts fast and hard against the soaked satin, so close to where we both want him to be. And with a grunt of release, I feel him cover me in his cum.

  I sprawl over him, giving zero fucks that we are messy as hell and I’m only making it worse. Sex is not a neat and tidy affair unless you’re doing it wrong, and prissy folks who think it should be need to get over themselves. Or maybe just have sex so good that they don’t care about sweat, saliva, and cum on every available inch of skin. I laugh at my own random thoughts.

  My legs rest outside his, my arms noodles against the fluffy rug, and my head in the nook where his shoulder meets his neck. “Wow is right,” I say, copying his earlier sentiments. Well, the sentiment I thought I heard him say, but real or imagined, it’s the damn truth.

  He chuckles beneath me, jostling me. “That good?”

  “Don’t be fishing for compliments, Wolfe. You know it was.”

  “Fishing for compliments? You Americans do love an animal idiom, don’t you? Goose hunting, compliment fishing, and I’ve heard others.” He hums as though he’s thinking, which is impressive because my brain is still coated in rainbow-sprinkled fog. “Oh, ‘elephant in the room’, which made me literally look around, and ‘hold your horses’ instead of ‘wait, please’, and ‘wouldn’t hurt a fly’, which seems rather ridiculous because why wouldn’t you kill a fly?”

  At that one, I do find the energy to laugh. I lift up, blinking to clear my eyes. “Just don’t be a one-trick pony.” I’m baiting him, and he grins.

  “Think I’ve already proven that’s not the case, haven’t I?”

  “Touché,” I admit.

  He throws my earlier words back at me too. “Oh, fancy and French, Miss Stryker.”

  We both laugh at that. Two sex-exhausted, animal idiom-loving, fun-seeking people who definitely should not be together. But I can’t imagine a more ridiculously amazing way to spend the evening.

  It’s been a wild night, but there’s one thing I know.

  Dare done.

  In so many ways, with the insertion of games and fun, laughter and seduction, we made the dare for a night out our bitch.

  I just hope we don’t pay the price tomorrow.

  Chapter 12

  Colton

  I have a morning meeting the next day, leaving Elle to arrive on her own. Not that I think she can’t handle that, and honestly, a separate arrival might even be the safer course of action, but I feel a twinge that perhaps I’m throwing her to the wolves.

  What is it with the animal idioms in America?

  Though tossing Elle to this Wolfe would be fine and dandy with me, I think as I smack my lips.

  “Everything good?” The waitress has mistaken my taste for Elle as delight for the passable eggs and bacon breakfast. I’d hoped the fruit salad would be better, but it’s all honeydew and cantaloupe, my least favorite and in this quantity, virtually gag-inducing.

  “It’s fine,” I say generously. It’s not he
r fault the food is mediocre at best. Nor did I choose this establishment.

  No, my meeting location was the call of the man across the table from me.

  "Any questions or concerns I could clear up, Mr. Wolfe? We’d really like to collaborate with Fox. We can really help streamline processes for you, and that’ll have a really positive outcome on the bottom-line figures.”

  The man sitting across from me is wearing an off-the-rack suit that has not been tailored in the least, though it is freshly dry cleaned. His hair is swept to the side in an attempt to cover the increasing amount of pink skin visible through the thin strands. He uses corporate babble as if the words actually mean something beyond being trendy catchphrases. And most annoyingly, he says ‘really’ approximately every fifth word . . . for the entirety of his presentation. Really.

  “I don’t believe so, Michael.” But then I think again. “Tell me how you got on my schedule.”

  I’m not some elitist prick who thinks my time is simply too valuable to deal with the day-in and day-out of operations. They are my main purview, actually. But for me to meet with what equates to a cold-call salesman is not the best use of my time by any means.

  “Of course. I met with Mr. Givens, and he seemed really keen on the potential impacts we could have by partnering together. He really helped grease the way for me with your assistant, who was really hesitant at first. But Mr. Givens assured her that I could really help Fox. And bing, bang, boom . . . here we are.”

  Michael emphasizes his speech with finger guns, an American gesture if ever there were one.

  Tom Givens. I had that discussion with him about his behavior only yesterday, so for this meeting to have already been on my calendar, it can’t be retaliation, though that’s my first thought. Instead, perhaps it’s a telling sign that Elle’s assessment was correct. Tom is a dinosaur douche canoe who’s unable to perform his job to even mediocre standards. Because this meeting has been a complete and utter waste of my morning, without even a good cup of coffee to show for it.

  “Indeed, here we are.” Michael’s salesman smile melts at my dry delivery. “Please feel free to send your proposal to Helen. She is rather adept at knowing where my attentions are best spent.” The compliment to my assistant is in direct rebuttal to his complaint about her. “Good day, Michael.”