Good Karma

by Donya Lynne

  “Mmm,” The tip of his pen slashed color into the irises. “In that case, do you think I can get you to wear that sexy outfit from Jabba’s palace next time I see you?”

  She laughed again then said, “If that’s what it takes for you to bring out your best, Master, then I suppose I can.”

  When had Karma grown so overtly sexual? He liked this side of her. She pushed his buttons in all the right ways. “You know, if I wasn’t so set on waiting, I’d stop by tonight and explore your new, bolder side. What’s gotten into you, anyway? You don’t normally talk with such…” He searched for the right word. “Sexual innuendo.”

  “I don’t know.” She paused for a moment as if thinking. “Maybe it’s that I haven’t really seen you in a week—last night notwithstanding. And about that, maybe I’m still a little…oh, I don’t know…rattled by what we did right before my dad showed up.”

  “Rattled?”

  “Yes, rattled.”

  He pressed his lips together and smirked. “You liked it?”

  When Karma answered, her voice was light and airy, almost wistful. “Yes.”

  “So did I.” And if her dad hadn’t shown up, Mark would have seen that blazing kiss through until Karma cried in pleasure, her body shuddering beneath his as he took her to the heights he so badly wanted to show her…and which she obviously and so eagerly wanted to experience.

  She lightly cleared her throat. “And maybe I’m growing bolder because I’ve been learning so much from my books. They say that with knowledge comes power, and I believe it. I never knew there was so much to learn about all this sex stuff.”

  He rocked forward in his chair. “Sex stuff. Now there’s a scientific term for you.”

  Her breezy laughter lifted his heart. “Stop making fun of me, Master Mark.”

  “Dream of it not, I will,” he said in his best Yoda impersonation, which was pretty bad.

  Karma laughed harder.

  Mark leaned his arm on his desk, admiring the four caricatures of Karma’s face staring up at him from the paper. “Well, all the ‘sex stuff’ is going to wait until next weekend, so you’d better get your rest this week while I’m gone.”

  “Oh? Why’s that? Do you plan on keeping me awake for two straight days?”

  Mark’s voice dropped, and he grew deadly serious. “I just might. By this weekend, I’ll have been away almost two weeks, with last night’s very pleasant, sexy, and unfinished kiss still haunting me. I might not be able to control myself once I get my hands on you again.”

  His words had the effect he was after. Numb silence answered him through the phone. A moment later, Karma practically whispered, “I see your point.”

  “I thought you might.” He drew in a breath and slowly blew it out, so aroused that he knew he’d need a shower if he was going to get any more work done today. “And with that, I should be getting off here. I have a lot of work to do before I meet Don in the morning, and I’m not going to get any of it done listening to your sexy voice.”

  “Awe, you do say the sweetest things.” He heard the smile in her tone.

  “So do you. Now, get back to your reading and your Kegels and all your other wonderful lessons, but leave Hank alone. I don’t want you touching him. You’re mine now. The next time you come, I want it to be with me. So…no playing.”

  “None?”

  “None. Nada. Zilch.”

  “No fair.”

  He chuckled. “You’ll understand next weekend why I want you to wait. Trust me on this. Now, promise me you won’t play.”

  She hesitated.

  “Karma? Promise me.”

  “Fine. I promise,” she said with obvious reluctance. “I trust you.”

  “Good. That’s what I want to hear.” He checked the time. “Okay, sweetheart, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later this week.”

  They said their good-byes, and Mark set his phone on his desk, ready to address the raging hard-on putting pressure on the seam of his jeans. He didn’t want Karma to play with herself, but if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back long enough to perform next weekend. So, for him, the more he masturbated in the next six days, the better. For her, abstinence was key. She would understand why soon enough.

  Okay, so maybe there were still a few things he could teach her.

  Chapter 37

  I am good, but not an angel. I do sin, but I am not the devil. I am just a small girl in a big world trying to find someone to love.

  -Marilyn Monroe

  Karma didn’t think Friday would ever arrive. As busy as she was all week, time should have flown faster, but as is usually the case when there’s something to look forward to, time crawled.

  Six weeks ago—hell, even five weeks ago—she would have been a nervous wreck about what was to come this weekend. Mark planned on making love to her. This was it. The old Karma would have been queasy with nerves, but new Karma was excited. She trusted Mark. Like an expert gardener, Mark had cultivated the delicate, vulnerable seedling of her newfound sexuality. He hadn’t forced her to grow faster than she was capable of. More like he had coaxed and prepared her to blossom at her own pace. His words of encouragement and his guidance were fertilizer, and his kisses and gentle touch were water. He was attentive and patient, and in him, Karma had found a lover worth giving herself to. One who waited until she was ready, and only then would he pluck her fruit.

  And it was harvest time. He had gently pulled her along, showed her how beautiful she was, urged her to realize her own beauty, and now waited for her to give herself to him.

  Was she still nervous? Hell, yes. But was she so nervous as to be crippled? No. These were good nerves. The kind of nerves a speaker channeled into a kick-ass speech, not the kind that caused a breakdown.

  So, when Friday morning finally dawned, Karma eagerly awoke. After getting ready for work, she smiled as she picked up the gold brooch that had been the catalyst for the official start of their affair. Mark would understand its meaning when he saw it pinned to her scarf. The brooch was her way of telling him that she was ready for this weekend. Ready for whatever their time together brought. That her answer was yes to whatever he wanted to do, because she knew he would care for her body as well as he cared for her mind.

  She arrived at work before he did. Not surprising since it was seven thirty and his return flight yesterday had been delayed due to weather. He and Don hadn’t returned to Indianapolis until almost midnight.

  At nine thirty, Mark appeared at the end of the hall, wearing the navy, pin-striped suit that made him look like the sexiest executive on the planet. There were power suits, and then there were power suits. This was the latter. Why did she get the impression he had worn it for her?

  “Good morning, Karma.” His gaze dropped to the red scarf secured around her neck. “That’s a pretty brooch.”

  She lifted her hand and fondled the gold circle. “Thank you. I wear it on special occasions.”

  His eyes narrowed with understanding as one side of his mouth lifted. “And that special occasion today would be…?”

  “Oh, it’s just special.” She waved her hand dismissively.

  “That it is.” He winked and turned for the conference room, grinning as he walked away.

  The devil. He was going to make today unbearable. She got up, went to the coffee station, and prepared him a mug.

  “Thank you,” he said as she set the coffee on a Solar coaster beside his tablet.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “And…” He stopped her before she could leave. “Thank you for the brooch.”

  She smiled. “You’re welcome for that, too.”

  He spun his chair toward her, looked behind her to make sure no one was listening, then whispered in a voice so hot she practically melted, “If we were alone, I’d bend you over this table right now.”

  Her mouth fell open, and heat exploded between her legs.

  He leaned closer. “I’d lift that pretty skirt, peel off your panties, and
bury myself inside you until you cried my name and quivered around my cock.”

  Karma closed her mouth and swallowed, feeling the heat between her legs intensify, but she couldn’t utter a single word in reply. He had never talked to her like that. Maybe he should do so more often.

  With a grin, he turned back toward his computer. “Thank you for the coffee, Karma.”

  She was dismissed. But clearly, he was pleased with her reaction. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be wearing such a Cheshire cat smile.

  Fighting the slippery sensation between her legs, she returned to her desk, sat down, and glanced into the conference room. Mark’s smoldering gaze was the sexiest I’m-going-to-fuck-you-so-hard look she had ever seen. As in anywhere. Not even in the movies had she seen a more salacious expression.

  Yes, Mark was going to make today unbearable…but in the most incredible, stimulating way. But two could play at that game.

  * * *

  Right before leaving for lunch with Don, Mark’s phone vibrated on the table next to his tablet. With a nonchalant glance, he read the message.

  I’m not wearing any panties.

  WHAT?

  His head snapped around. Karma wasn’t looking at him, but her coquettish grin told him she knew he was watching her. Was she serious? Just the thought that she wasn’t wearing underwear caused his cock to bob to life.

  Are you pulling my leg? he texted back.

  No. Want me to prove it?

  When he glanced back, her face was beet red.

  Don’t tempt me. Damn, he was already stiff.

  Now we’re both worked up, aren’t we?

  Woman, I get worked up just looking at you, but now I’m worried for your safety tonight.

  Tonight?

  Yes, tonight. My place. 7:00. Bring an overnight bag with enough clothes to make it to Sunday. I’m keeping you for a while. Especially now that you’ve shown me you’re more than ready to take the heat.

  I have?

  Karma, if you’ve really taken off your panties, I think we both know the answer to that.

  She smiled when he glanced at her. She looked at her phone, thumb-typed a reply, and a moment later, his phone vibrated.

  I really have taken them off, and oh my God, I can’t believe I did.

  Does it feel sexy?

  Yes.

  You’re something else, you know that?

  It’s your fault.

  Mine?

  Yes. You’ve turned me into a nympho.

  He chuckled. That could be a good thing. With the right man, of course.

  And you’re the right man?

  Absolutely. But you kept your promise this week, right? No playing?

  Yes, I kept my promise. Which is probably why I did something as foolish as take off my underwear. I’m horny.

  This time he laughed. Karma! I can’t believe you said that. Such a potty mouth.

  He heard her giggle. A few seconds later, he received another text. I can’t help it. You wouldn’t let me play with Hank this week.

  You need to break up with Hank. You need a real man.

  But I don’t want to hurt his feelings.

  You need to be more worried about hurting mine. I’m a sensitive guy. Who has an ego. Remember? I refuse to let a power tool be better than I am.

  Something tells me you have nothing to worry about in that department.

  He grinned. Well, I’ll give it my best.

  Deal.

  Good. Now, quit sexing me up. I have to have lunch with your boss in a few minutes and I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.

  LOL. Okay, I’ll stop, but only because I don’t want Don stealing you away.

  Such wit.

  You don’t have to worry about that, he texted. You’re a lot cuter than Don.

  When he looked at her, she wore one of her signature angelic smiles. The ones that caused his heart to beat a little harder and his skin to warm. He hoped to see many more of those smiles this weekend.

  And in the weeks to come.

  Chapter 38

  The real lover is the man who can thrill you just by touching your head or smiling into your eyes—or just by staring into space.

  -Marilyn Monroe

  Karma pulled into the garage of Mark’s condo and parked next to his BMW. He had told her he would leave the garage door open. That way, her car wouldn’t sit in his driveway all weekend, just in case a coworker happened by.

  As she got out and grabbed her bag from the backseat, the garage door closed. Mark met her at the stairs leading into the kitchen.

  “Hey you.” He swept in for a kiss.

  He took her bag and stepped aside. A trail of steam rose from the spout of a pan on the stove, and the savory scent of garlic and oregano suggested Mark could cook a mean Italian dish.

  “You can cook?” She looked over her shoulder as he stepped behind her and wound his arms around her waist. Her heart fluttered.

  “Oh, yes, Karma. I can cook,” he said against the side of her neck before kissing it.

  Easy jazz played from somewhere in the living room, lending a classy ambience to the atmosphere. She took a seat on one of the barstools and watched him make his way around the kitchen with the swift confidence of an executive chef. He lifted the lid off a skillet, releasing a plume of steam, then dipped in a spoon, raised it to his mouth and tasted, licked his lips thoughtfully, then sprinkled in a dash of salt before replacing the lid and opening the oven in one fluid motion. He pulled out a tray of thick slabs of buttery garlic bread, barely golden brown, and set it on the counter. It was an entertaining dance between man and cuisine.

  “You sure know your way around a kitchen.”

  “Cooking is sort of a hobby.” Using a fork, he plucked a piece of spaghetti from the boiling water, blew on it, then dropped it in his mouth.

  “I didn’t know that.” She leaned on her elbows and crossed her forearms on the granite countertop. Learning these nuggets and nuances was like opening small gifts. Each one revealed something precious, something expressly hers.

  Using a kitchen towel, he lifted the pan and carried it to the sink, where he poured the contents into a metal colander. “I love to dabble in the kitchen. It eases my mind.” He set the empty pan on the counter, lifted the colander, and shook off the excess water. “When I’m stuck on some part of a project, or when I get stressed, cooking always seems to clear my head. It’s kind of like my doodling. It occupies my thoughts in a way that just feels simple so my subconscious can work on other things.”

  “Do you make up your own recipes or follow others’?”

  He used tongs to lift the noodles from the colander and twisted them into a spiraled bundle on a nearby plate. “I usually make up my own, but sometimes I see something I like, get the recipe, and alter it my way.”

  “You’re a real Gordon Ramsey.”

  He twisted a second pile of pasta on another plate. “Nah, just an amateur who has a way with food.” He carried the plates to the stove, lifted the lid off the skillet, and ladled a large spoonful of thick, rich sauce that smelled heavenly onto each mound of pasta. Two giant meatballs topped them off. Then he added a piece of garlic bread and placed one plate in front of her and the other at the setting beside her. “Wine?” He lifted a bottle of red.

  “Please.”

  Very impressive. This was the first time a man had cooked for her. The first time one had gone through so much trouble to seduce her. Mark didn’t have to go to such lengths. They both knew what tonight was about…what this entire weekend was about. He could have simply ordered takeout, fed her, and whisked her off to bed. Instead, he took his time, easing into the moment. Despite their steamy exchanges at the office today, Mark was in no rush to reach the evening’s denouement.

  The first bite of her meal sent an explosion of flavor through her senses. This was Italian with an attitude.

  “Oh my God.” She turned toward him as he sat beside her.

  His modest grin did little to hide his pride. “G
ood?”

  She nodded then changed her mind and shook her head. “No. Not good.” She turned back to her plate. “This is orgasmic.”

  He had just taken a drink of wine and nearly spit it out. He coughed, dabbed his napkin on his upper lip, and cleared his throat. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that.”

  She grinned. “This is really good.” She sliced her fork through the steaming meatball and slipped a chunk into her mouth. “Mmmm, heaven.” Flavors crashed against her tongue. “Is this your recipe? You didn’t replicate someone else’s?”

  He nodded once and took a bite. “My own.”

  “What’s in it?”

  He winked. “It’s a secret.”

  “I want this recipe,” she said.

  “If you’re good, I’ll think about it.” He nodded toward her plate and flashed a wicked grin. “Now eat. You need your strength.”

  It was his first allusion to what was in store for her this weekend.

  “I’m sure I do.” She turned to her Italian heaven-on-a-plate and dug in. If he wanted her to eat, she would eat. And if he wanted her to do other things later? Well, she would just have to do those, too.

  * * *

  After dinner, Mark took their plates to the sink then returned and wrapped his arms around her from behind. “Why don’t you take a bath while I clean up the kitchen?”

  “Why do I get the impression you’ve already made that decision for me?” She slid off the barstool.

  He simply smiled, picked up her bag, and led her upstairs to the loft bedroom.

  The small desk lamp was the only one on in the room, but evening light still spilled through the western-facing windows. He set her bag on the king-sized bed, which was dressed in burgundy satin with enormous throw pillows resting against the leather headboard.

  She followed him into the bathroom.

  He turned on the water and started filling the large, oval tub.

  “Vanilla okay?” He held up a bottle of bubble bath.