And then his big body is out of the chair, his knee coming down in between my legs. It’s like a choreographed dance as he lowers, spreads my legs, and drives into my ready, wet, and eager body.
“Yes,” I gasp, fingers diving into his thick hair and relishing the way he fills me up so completely.
“Did you like those men touching you?” he growls, placing his lips right by my ear.
Men? What men?
All I know at this moment is Declan Blackwood and the fact that he’s driving into me so very deeply.
His mouth moves along my neck before he asks, “Did you want them to fuck you?”
I manage to shake my head.
“Do you like the way I fuck you?” he snarls.
My hands jerk at his hair as I snarl right back him, “You know I do.”
“Then say it,” he demands, thrusting in so hard it makes my eyes practically roll into the back of my head. “Say how much you love me fucking you.”
A staccato burst of words form. “I. Love. The. Way. You. Fuck. Me. Declan.”
“Fucking right you do,” he mutters before starting an all-out assault on my body. His head angles and his mouth slants over mine. His hips drive over and over against me, and my orgasm lights.
A tiny flare at first, but then on a particularly brutal thrust into me, it catches fire. Blossoms, bursts, and then explodes.
My cry of release is warbled because of his mouth covering mine, then he’s coming hard.
He lifts his head, tosses it back, and I marvel as the muscles in his neck cord tightly as he growls out a long, gratifying orgasm while his hips grind into mine.
For a long moment, we lay there and try to catch our breath. But then he lifts his head, looks down with a wry grin. “Good thing you like me fucking you.”
“Why is that?” I whisper.
“Because we’re just getting started,” he promises, and I couldn’t be happier to hear that.
CHAPTER 15
Declan
“Miss Robbins,” I call, knowing this isn’t necessary or pertinent to our workday.
Yet, I call her all the same.
As per usual, when I request something of her, she grabs her iPad, pushes out of her office chair, and walks into my office.
Not sure if she always had a sexy-as-fuck stride, but I sure as shit see it now. Maybe because I spent a great deal of time watching those hips roll and writhe last night, but they draw my attention as she approaches.
“Yes, Mr. Blackwood?” she says primly.
Last night, it was “Fuck me harder, Declan,” and, “I don’t think I can come again.”
Yet… she always did.
I fucked her in three different rooms, in three deliciously kinky ways. After The Deck, I paraded her naked through the club, her dress thrown over my shoulder, knowing it would cause her discomfort while forcing her to step outside her comfort zone. I led her to The Orgy room where we lounged on silk pillows while we sipped at whiskeys, watching the shows around us. She’d laid her head on my lap for a bit, but that hadn’t lasted long. It was impossible to be in that environment without getting turned on.
Her mouth ended up on my cock, then I put her on her hands and knees, drilling her hard from behind until we both came spectacularly. My favorite part had been pulling out, taking the condom off, and watching her clean me off with her tongue. I didn’t order her to. The fact she took it upon herself not only impressed me about the levels she’d go to please a man, but it also endeared her to me in a way no woman ever has before.
We finished our evening in The Silo. She hadn’t been there before, and I enjoyed her slack-jawed, wide-eyed response as she took in the various inner rooms with kinky shit playing out in them.
We took a break, sat at the bar—her in all her naked glory—and slowly sipped fresh drinks. I explained the stuff she didn’t understand—a woman on a St. Andrew’s cross—and learned more about her limits. She seemed a bit cagey about bringing in other people to play with us, but I’m okay with that. There is plenty of other stuff—an unlimited amount—we can explore until we get bored with each other.
We ultimately ended up in one of the glass-walled rooms, and I put her in a harness that hoisted her off the floor to hover at any height I wanted. Cock level so she could suck on me, chin level so I could eat her out. Lower so I could fuck her. People watched from outside the glass walls as I fucked her while still suspended from the ceiling.
But where do we go from here?
Bailey watches me with a bland expression, digital pen poised over the iPad. We worked together all day—seamlessly and with the utmost professionalism. I almost have myself convinced this can work for as long as I want it to.
“Please move my dinner appointment back half an hour,” I clip out, looking at the calendar on my laptop. “Marianne needs some time to go over the operations budget. I need you to run last quarter’s P&L, then compare it to the same quarter last year. Something’s not adding up. Afterward, run up to my suite, grab one of my navy suits, and pick a tie to match. Finally, cancel my car service for the evening. I’ve decided to drive.”
She doesn’t hesitate, scribbling a few notes before turning on her heel. “Right away.”
Bailey makes it two steps before I stop her. “Miss Robbins.”
Halting, she glances back. “Yes?”
“Meet me at the club at eleven.” I focus my attention on my laptop, effectively dismissing her.
“I’m sorry,” she replies, her tone making me lift my head. “But I can’t tonight.”
Not understanding, I say, “Excuse me?”
“I have plans tonight,” she says simply, and doesn’t offer any further explanation.
“What plans?”
Her head tips to the side, her smile slightly bland. “I have something I have to do and won’t be able to make the club tonight. But maybe tomorrow night.”
I don’t like this. Being denied, I mean.
I also don’t like how beyond curious I am about what could be more important than delving back into the sinful luxury of The Wicked Horse.
Yet, I refuse to point-blank ask. Instead, I inquire, “Any chance you could cancel your plans?”
Her smile turns almost sympathetic, which I don’t like either. She feels sorry for me, but her reply is firm. “I can’t. I’m spending the evening with my mom. She’s not feeling well, and my dad isn’t the most responsible person. It’s probably not necessary, but I’d feel better if I did.”
Well, that doesn’t quite make sense to me either. The way she worded it made it seem like it isn’t serious. Plus, it sounds like she has a perfectly capable father. And not only that, needing to provide parents that type of support is beyond my comprehension. My parents would probably rather die than ask my sister or me to care for them if ill. That’s what private doctors and nurses are for.
The man I am—who I have been for thirty-six years—should wave her off and make plans for another evening later. But fuck if I’m not even more curious than before.
“What’s wrong with your mother?” I ask. And then feel the need to explain my nosiness. “It’s just… it seems a little unusual for a woman your age, and by that I mean fairly young, to have to look after her parents.”
Bailey nods in understanding, pulls her iPad into her chest, then crosses her arms over it. “My mother’s disabled with significant lung issues and dependent on oxygen. She’s having a problem keeping her oxygen levels up. I’ll feel better if I spend the night watching over her.”
That fucking sucks. I don’t have a clue how old Bailey is—I’m guessing mid-to-late twenties. Her mom is most likely not that old. But I suppose lung disease doesn’t discriminate based on age. I now have more questions, though. “And your dad isn’t a reliable provider?”
Her smile slides away. She ponders the question before lifting her gaze to mine, resolute and slightly frustrated. “My dad—whom I love dearly—comes with his own set of issues.”
“What kind
of issues?” I ask.
Bailey merely cocks an eyebrow. “Sir… I don’t want to impede on your workday with irrelevant personal discussions about my parents’ health issues. Again, it’s with absolute regret I won’t be able to join you tonight. I’m sure I would have a lot more fun with you at The Wicked Horse than I will at my parents’ house. But this is my life… It happens quite often.”
I’m sure she doesn’t mean for me to draw this conclusion, but from the fatigue in her voice, I assume it’s a bit of a burden. “You know, you can say no to your parents. Force your dad to step up. Your mom could call if she gets bad enough to need medical treatment, so you don’t have to spend your evening losing sleep looking after her.”
No matter what happens between Bailey and me in the future, I don’t think I’ll ever forget this moment. Her expression pitying, she regards me as if I’m the one who needs to be pitied because I apparently don’t understand fundamental truths. Yet, I don’t know what those truths are, and I feel as if I’m missing something important.
But I’ll also never forget the way Bailey lets out a small sigh before heading to the chair opposite my desk. Perching on the edge, she places her iPad on her lap, clasping her hands on top of it.
She takes in a breath, lets it out, and says, “Mr. Blackwood… I certainly don’t know how you were raised, but I was brought up by two parents who sacrificed everything for me. They worked two and three jobs to provide the basics, and they weren’t pleasant jobs. Hard, backbreaking labor. My mom’s gave her bad lungs, which will kill her far too early. My dad’s gave him a bad back. It’s not just my duty as their daughter to help them… but it is also my privilege. I could no more turn my back on them—no matter how stressed or frustrated I am—than I can say no to a breath of oxygen so I can breathe. I’m surprised you need me to explain that to you.”
Her words make me straighten in my chair. I have a feeling I was just given a lesson in real life. Whether she meant me to, I feel a bit like when Leonie used to chastise me when I was being a dipshit of a kid.
I also clearly understand how far removed I am from ordinary people because of my wealth and privilege. Not only removed, but also probably suffering from an actual dysfunctionality because of the way I was raised. That realization is stark. It never mattered to me before, but it does now.
My tone is appropriately abashed. “Why don’t you take off early and go check on your mom? Come in late tomorrow if you need to since I suspect you won’t be getting a lot of sleep.”
Bailey can’t hide her shocked expression as she tries to absorb what I said. In the weeks she’s been working for me, I’ve demanded she come in early and stay late almost every single day. Not once have I given her the luxury of the opposite.
Finally, she rises, shooting me a wary look. “Thank you, Mr. Blackwood. That’s very generous.”
“But please make sure to handle the few things I asked you to do,” I reply with brisk efficiency before turning my attention to my computer.
When she says, “Of course,” I assume she starts heading for my office door.
But I think of one more thing. She’s about the cross the threshold when I say, “Ms. Robbins, if you do not have plans for tomorrow evening, I would like you to join me at the club.”
She stops, shooting a saucy grin over her shoulder. “As long as my mother is fine, I would love that.”
I hope to fuck her mom is doing well because tomorrow cannot come soon enough.
CHAPTER 16
Bailey
“Good morning, Mr. Blackwood,” I chirp when Declan walks down the hallway toward me. I station myself just outside his office door, holding his cup of coffee in one hand and my iPad in the other.
I would like to say that over the past week since we’ve started meeting at The Wicked Horse, things have remained professional during the day, but that wouldn’t be true. Declan lets his gaze run down the length of my body before giving me a crooked smile. “Good morning, Miss Robbins.”
Declan takes the coffee from my hand, and I follow him into his office. As has become routine, he moves behind his desk while I perch in one of the guest chairs, ready to take notes. Declan lowers his frame into his chair, crossing one leg over the other and sipping at his coffee. “What’s on the agenda today?”
I spend a few moments going over his appointments and what I’ve done to prepare for them. He asks a couple of questions to clarify, and I answer smoothly. Our office relationship has become incredibly efficient since I learned to anticipate his needs and he started to trust me.
Any outside observer who might be walking by his office that would take notice of us would agree… I’m a great assistant, and he’s a good employer. We make a fabulous working team.
Nobody would ever guess that just short of twelve hours ago, Declan had me at The Wicked Horse locked in a pair of stocks. You know, the old wooden trap that held you tight around the neck and wrists while you’re bent over. He locked me in them while a crowd gathered around and watched him do all sorts of unimaginable things to me. I have to press my legs together to stop the throbbing that occurs from thinking about it. But God Almighty, he has turned me into someone I don’t even recognize. Someone I like, yet I’m still surprised over my newfound sexuality.
Last night, he took my ass in front of a group of people. He didn’t do it right away. First, he made me suck his cock while I was immobilized in the stocks. Then he went around to my rear where I couldn’t see a damn thing he was doing. But I could feel it and damn, did it feel good. My first inclination that I was getting ready to have my cherry popped was when I heard the lube snap open. I struggled to turn my head to look, but it was impossible. I was scared shitless and excited beyond control, a combination making a potent aphrodisiac.
Declan is the most thoughtful of lovers. Through conversation, he had learned I had never had anal sex, just as he had learned that I would like to try it. That I was curious enough to want to give it a go.
He’s a thoughtful lover and there was no way he was going to fuck me with that big ass dick of his without first making sure I could take it.
So while I was in the stocks, he prepared me, working up to multiple fingers before using a dildo about half the size of his cock. He alternated that with his fingers on my clit, producing a massive orgasm that felt unlike anything I’d ever felt.
By the time he fucked my ass, I was practically begging for it.
“Miss Robbins?” Declan says, amusement in his tone. “Are you even listening to me?”
My eyes snap to his, and I can see it in his expression. He knows I was thinking about last night. And I want to slap that triumphant grin off his face.
I decide to give back as good as he is giving me right now. Leveling him with my most angelic look, I tip my head to the side and coyly admit, “I was just thinking about how good it felt to have your cock in my ass last night.”
I take great satisfaction when Declan physically jolts from my words. It’s the first time we have brought the intimacy of what we do together into his office.
He stares blankly. I start to feel he might chastise me when his lips curl up, and I get a fat Cheshire grin from him. He leans forward across his desk, murmuring, “I knew you would love it. Anytime you want that, I’m happy to oblige you.”
“Anytime?” I ask, a coquettish quirk to my lips.
He makes a low humming sound in his throat, eyes glittering. “It’s a shame I have a meeting in about five minutes. I think you’d look fabulous bent over my desk with your skirt hiked up around your hips.”
I go still. It’s the first time the mere mention has been made about being intimate outside the club. We’d gone from teasing to a very sobering proposition that we didn’t really need to limit ourselves if we wanted to slake our lust with each other. Suddenly, all sorts of impure thoughts come to mind.
Not only me bent over his desk, but me flat on my back on his desk with my legs over his shoulders while he ate me out. God, Declan is a mast
er with his mouth. Or me kneeling between his legs while he conducts business, and I suck his dick.
“But I do have a meeting to prepare for,” Declan reminds me, and I have to shake my head to free the rampant thoughts rushing through.
“Also, I have to attend the quarterly board meeting for the Blackwood corporation next week,” he says, settling back into his chair. I poise my pen, ready to take notes on what he might need from me to prepare. “I would like you to come if you can leave your mom for a few days.”
I blink in confusion. “You want me to come with you?”
“Yes, to Chicago. It’s where the Blackwood headquarters are located. I’ve always brought my assistant. All the board members do. You’ll take notes for me, of course, the same as the others. Be available to run any errands as I might need, manage appointments, etcetera. We’ll be gone for two nights.”
I consider before asking, “Have you ever asked any of your other assistants if they had personal matters that would keep them from attending the meeting with you?”
Declan frowns. “I’m not following.”
“You said if my mom was well enough for me to attend, but you also said your assistants always attend with you, which makes it sound like a mandatory part of the job.”
“Okay,” he drawls, frown deepening.
“I guess I’m confused,” I say with a slight lift of my chin. “If you need your assistant there, then I will be there. There shouldn’t be any special consideration for how well my mom is doing.”
Declan cocks an eyebrow. “You’re upset because I extended consideration toward your circumstances?”
“Not upset,” I hasten to assure. “I wanted to clarify that attending these meetings is a requirement of my job—if so, then you can count on me to be there.”
“Yes, it’s a requirement,” he replies stiffly. “Again, I was just saying if your mom is bad, I’m sure I could handle it without you.”
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