by Christa Wick
Jake bent at the waist. His head nudged my right arm away from my hip. His teeth closed around one end of the ribbon tie. He pulled slowly toward my front, the bow undone by the time his head was centered on my body. He relaxed his jaw for a second, dropped the ribbon, and then he found its twin on my other hip and repeated the process.
"Lean back."
I complied with his rough command and he knelt on the ground before me, his hands wrapping around my knees to force my thighs wide. Using his teeth once more, he pulled down the front panel of the panties to expose my already dripping cunt.
"Damn, I need this," he groaned as he nuzzled my mound and thighs. His hands left my knees to grab the handle of the bottom drawer on each side of the desk. He pulled them open then seized my ankles. Lifting my legs, he hooked the heel on my stiletto pumps on the outer edge of each drawer face.
Fully exposed, I felt the cold circulation of air against my labia. A shiver ran through me, eliciting a soft chuckle from Jake.
"Here, baby. Let me chase that away."
A slow, hot hiss of air left his mouth, heating my moist folds. Beneath the tight, leather corset, my nipples, already pebbled with arousal, began to ache with a pain that only his tongue could ease.
Lucky me, Jake Kehoe was a man who loved the taste of pussy. It was his ambrosia.
And, for the next eleven months, mine was the only cup from which he could drink.
"Do you have any idea how much I need this?" he asked, his gaze far south of my face.
"Hey buddy," I giggled, completely forgiving his earlier desire to shelter Riona and Marjolein from the same public role into which he had gleefully dragged me. "My eyes are up here."
I saw a flash of his multi-hued irises and their curtain of dark lashes before a predatory flick of Jake's tongue against his top lip diverted my attention. Still looking up at me, he took a soft nip against my inner thigh.
"Okay, gorgeous, answer my question -- do you have any idea how much I need you?"
My heart slammed against the back of my ribcage at the slight alteration in his wording from needing "this," the wet, quivering pussy a few short inches from his mouth, to needing me. For a month, I had been drowning in my own angst, wondering if our "affair of the sheets" was nothing more than a rich man's diversion. I had a good idea what I ultimately wanted from Jake, I just didn't dare hope he felt the same. And I knew that, if I risked dwelling on the difference, I would begin to cry. So I shook my head and whispered.
"Show me."
His opening volley of proof had me squirming energetically against the mink throw. His tongue led the attack as it dragged a slow, hard line from the top of my clit, down its center, to the small bead tucked under the hood. He teased that swollen nodule, the tongue curling under it while his top lip massaged it from the other side.
I jerked once, the sensation overwhelming my self-control. A moan gurgled up my throat as he hooked two fingers inside my cunt. Spreading the tight ring of muscle, he filled it with the warm, wet mass of his inquisitive tongue before he returned to sucking at my clit.
More fingers filled me, surged thick inside. I hungered for the larger circumference of his cock even though the pleasure was so intense my eyes rolled up toward the ceiling as he fucked the digits in and out, his mouth kept busy nibbling the sensitive button a few inches higher.
Teeth scraped my skin. I bit down on my bottom lip, fighting the urge to scream my encouragement.
"Come for me, love." The rasping desire that cut jagged chunks from his words turned me to jelly. I quivered and shook as his mouth and hands continued to ruthlessly work my cunt.
"Come for me," he repeated, "so I can pound my cock into this sweet pussy."
I contorted, fighting my need for release, trying to keep the sounds of my arousal no louder than the internal roar of blood through my body. The pressure of Jake's touch increased. My body tensed, the narrow mouth of my cunt circling in on itself as my thighs squeezed Jake's shoulders. My ass lifted and he throttled my clit with his lips until I screamed and soaked his chin with my passion.
Panting, I pressed my back against the cool surface of the brick wall. Jake stood, his hands working quickly to unzip his pants and sheathe his cock. His fingers dug into my hips, dragging my bottom and the cushion beneath me to the edge of the desk.
One long, hard stroke and he was buried inside me. Each time we joined, he seemed thicker than the last encounter. Or maybe it was that my need swelled with each slide of his body against mine.
Grabbing a handful of my hair, Jake leaned into me. Forcing my neck into an arch as he pulled the hair, he covered my throat with kisses that threatened to leave me bruised.
"I need you to be mine, baby," he growled into my ear.
"I am," I promised, not knowing whether I was binding myself for the rest of the year or a lifetime. Either way, I would take every last minute I could get from him.
"I mean it." The growl intensified, its vibrations rumbling through my bones.
His mouth covered mine and then Jake began to plunder my body with everything he had, his tongue and cock delivering hard thrusts that would leave aching echoes inside me with every step I took the next few days.
Wrapping his free arm around my lower back, Jake cinched me to him, his powerful chest denting my soft flesh as his strokes angled upward. The hard muscles of his lower stomach bullied the folds of my labia and the small pearl hiding between them, assaulting my senses inside and out as he fucked deeper, faster, unrelenting until I lost all control and screamed again.
He held tight as I bucked furiously in my release, my cunt contracting around his heavy girth, sucking and fluttering all along his shaft as my nails raked his back through the fabric of his shirt.
"Everything, baby." He pumped the words into me. "Every muscle, every moan and sigh, all for me."
"Yes," I said, breathing my surrender over and over until he wrung another climax from me and I collapsed against him, my whole body shaking with exhaustion.
Dangerous feelings welled up inside me, wanted to slide over my tongue to taste the air between us, wanted to tell Jake that I was falling madly in love with him.
But there, on the cusp of my confession, other words slithered under the door and stole the future from me.
Jake
A harpy's screech jerked me from the sweet languor I found in Alexa's arms.
"Ronnie Ann you bring your whore self out here this minute. I know you're in here somewhere, you filthy whore!"
Pure terror flashed across Alexa's face. Her eyes went wide, her lips parted, the edges turned down.
"Some mistake," I assured her, but a heavy weight began to settle low in my gut. I knew every employee in the building and not a one, male or female, was named Ronnie.
"Alexa--"
Shaking her head, she sucked a ragged breath in. I moved to embrace her, but she brought her hands up and pushed against my chest. I could have crushed her to me, but not without hurting her.
"Whore, whore, whore!" the voice outside screamed. "Show yourself and answer for your sins!"
All the color left Alexa's face. She started to sway and I realized she hadn't released the breath she had taken seconds before. She would pass out if I didn't calm her down immediately. I reached for her again but she shrank from my touch.
"Alexa--"
"Not that name," she whispered, sliding off the edge of the desk as she tried to get away from me.
Not that name...
Riona yelled my name. She didn't sound frightened, just pissed, and so I hesitated. I looked at Alexa, but she had turned from me. The way she held herself -- the rigid shoulders, her hands protectively wrapped around her torso -- told me she was shutting down, locking me out. She would remain that way until the harpy in the next room was removed from the studio.
"Stay here," I said before calmly inching the door open just enough to squeeze out without looking like I was trying to hide the presence of another person in the prop room. As soon a
s I entered the studio, I heard the bolt slide shut behind me and the scrape of the chair along the floor as Alexa used it to bar my re-entry.
I looked toward the stage and quickly counted five bodies -- Riona, Marjolein, Rick and two strangers, a male and a female. The man was paunchy and balding, his face and body circling somewhere in his early to mid-50s. The woman was of an indeterminate age. She looked like one of those over-tanned, surgery addicted "trophy" wives on reality TV who think they are hot as hell.
One look at her and my balls shriveled with disgust.
Seeing me, the woman pointed a bony finger in my direction. The man, I presumed her husband, stood next to her. His body visibly trembled and he looked like he was going to puke or shit his pants.
Maybe both.
"There's the fornicator," the woman yelled. She foamed at the mouth, flecks of spit visible half a room away. "Where is that whore I'm ashamed to call my daughter? Is she in there?"
She took a step toward me only to be blocked by my sweet, sassy Riona and Jo-Jo, both of them with giant curlers in their hair, three-inch pumps on their feet, and their soft, lush bodies covered only by the corsets and studio kimonos. If rage hadn't been boiling away my blood, I would have fallen to the floor laughing my ass off at how surreal the scene felt.
It was like I had landed in a Monty Python or Benny Hill sketch. Any second now, I expected Yakety Sax to start playing and Mrs. Holier-Than-Thou to start chasing the girls around with a frying pan or rolling pin.
Only Riona wasn't the kind to run. Her hand landed center of the woman's chest.
"Back the fuck up," Riona bit out.
The woman momentarily directed her attention away from me. The bony, accusing finger pointed first at Riona then Jo-Jo, each jab in the air punctuating that same detestable word.
"Whore, whore."
The man finally grew a set of balls and made an ill-advised move to grab Riona's wrist. Rick's arm snaked around the guy's neck and started to squeeze. I made a mental note to thank him later and then I eased myself between Riona and the woman.
"You're leaving," I said. "Now."
I might have been a ghost for all the notice she took. The woman's head tilted back. Her giant maw opened and she screeched loud enough I actually wanted to wrap a hand around her throat and squeeze until she shut the fuck up.
"Veronica Ann Davies, I know you're in here!"
Her neck straightened just enough that she could look me in the eyes. What I saw made my stomach churn. The deep, emerald irises were the same as Alexa's, down to the exact pattern of the paler green dots clustered around the pupils. Alexa's eyes but filled with hate and poison.
I didn't need to ask her who Ronnie Ann was.
I already knew.
Security -- two men and a woman -- streamed through the studio door. Seeing the pepper spray and Tasers they had drawn from their utility belts, I felt a hard twinge of delight. If the woman didn't have enough sense to shut her mouth immediately, I would happily watch one of the guards give her a thick spray to the face of the foul liquid.
Rick pushed the husband into the arms of one of the male guards before immediately herding a furious Riona and Jo-Jo out of range of the spray and Tasers.
The female guard tried to restrain the harpy. Face purpling with rage, the woman clawed at the guard's hands.
"I'm going to sue all of you, every last one. You're ruining my reputation, parading that fat whore around, showing off her desecrated body." Spitting in the guard's face, the woman managed to break free and make a run for the door to the prop room.
Faster than I could have anticipated, she was pounding at the door and screaming herself hoarse. "Everyone knows it's you, Ronnie Ann. They think it's my fault, like I raised you to be a whore. Donald can barely show his face at work. You're ruining us!"
God help me, I threaded my hands through the woman's thin hair, my fingers knotting in the artificially blond strands to pull her away from the door. I wanted to yank, wanted to toss her on the ground as if she were an adversary on the football field, but I restrained myself.
"Jesus, Ruth. Shut up."
The words were the first I'd heard from the man. Something about the tone made my blood boil. Oily, pleading, whiny. I couldn't fathom how these two had produced my Alexa.
Shaking my head in disbelief, I straightened my arm to keep the harpy far enough away from my face that she couldn't reach me with her claws or spit. The female guard managed to capture her hands and secure her wrists with cable ties.
Letting go, I rubbed my palms against my jacket. I felt contaminated. I wanted to run boiling alcohol over my skin, but I had to get back to Alexa, had to coax her into unlocking the door or break it down if I couldn't get her to listen to reason.
"Get them out of here," I growled as I turned on one heel.
"You want us to call the police?" One of the guards asked.
"No, but take their pictures and post them," Riona answered for me before turning to the couple with a warning. "Come back and you'll be spending more than the night in jail."
"You're the one going to jail," the woman screamed. "We have indecency laws in this state. Whores like you get what they deserve in prison!"
"Oh, hell, no!" Riona barked. "You did not just say that!"
I turned back to the scene, certain I would have to wrestle my kid sister to the floor or risk her dismembering the woman. Marjolein got to Riona first and wrapped her in a tight hug. I could hear Jo-Jo whispering in my sister's ear.
"Look, I want to give the bitch a beat down, too," Jo-Jo cautioned. "But we are going to let security handle it."
I relaxed a fraction. The guards were taking care of the trespassers and my sweet, little, foul-mouthed friend and former executive assistant would keep my hot-tempered sister in check. That left me free to focus on Alexa.
Or Veronica Ann...
I shook my head. I didn't care what name she'd been born with. I didn't need more than a second's exposure to her parents to understand why she had changed her name. Veronica Ann was no more. Only my sweet Alexa existed.
Waiting until I could no longer hear the woman's screaming, I knocked lightly on the door to the prop room. "Baby, they're gone."
I expected a long wait and time spent searching for the door key before I could talk to Alexa face-to-face. She surprised me by opening the door almost immediately. She had used the time locked in the prop room to hobble together an outfit. Seeing her luscious curves obscured beneath a shapeless top and pants, I winced.
Without a glance in my direction, she walked past me, her expression cold and mechanical. I snagged her elbow, but she shook it off before I could react and secure my grip.
"Baby, I know you're upset--"
Her gaze snapped in my direction and for one horrifying moment, it was her mother's eyes that glared at me.
"I'm leaving," she said, her body dipping down by the makeup table to retrieve her bag.
"Of course," I answered quickly. "We can postpone the shoot for a few days...as long as you need."
She looked at me and I knew she was about to slip through my fingers forever. I knew it before the words ever escaped her mouth.
"I'm going back to Chicago," she said. "Alone."
This time, when my hand wrapped around her arm, I made damn sure she couldn't shake it off. Securing Alexa's other arm, I glared over her shoulder and ordered everyone left in the studio to leave with a jerk of my head.
I held her there, my eyes daring her to struggle the tiniest bit, until we were alone. Only then did my grip relax, but I didn't let go.
"You're not going anywhere until we talk."
Relenting, she closed her eyes and began to speak.
Alexa
"What do you want to know?" I asked, my wrists still locked in Jake's hard grip. I didn't want to answer a single question, but I would. After Ruth and Donald's visit, I knew I would never have a future with Jake. Refusing to talk to him at this point would only prolong the inevitable. And m
aybe, just maybe, what I had to say would keep me out of jail.
I couldn't possibly hope that he would still want me, but maybe I could at least get a little mercy.
"Who are you?" His grip tightened as he asked the question.
My eyes flashed open for a second. All I saw was Jake's hard, impassive stare, so I closed them again. What I had to say was painful enough, I didn't need to watch him judging me as I told him my sob story.
"Veronica Ann Davies," I answered. "I was born in San Angelo. Ruth Ann was seventeen..."
His hands flexed around my wrists, momentarily stalling the flow of blood to my fingers. I had never named any of my family members to Jake even though he had asked. But I had told him I was from Pennsylvania. The location was one of many lies.
"Was that your father with her?" he asked.
My stomach heaved halfway up my esophagus before I swallowed down the need to vomit. Shaking my head, I continued.
"That was Donald Pine, her husband." Pausing, I tried to lick my lips but my entire mouth had gone dry. A sound that was more bark than laugh escaped me.
"Think of the worst southern white trash caricature you can imagine," I challenged. "Ruth was worse than that. Knocked up at seventeen by an over thirty dope dealer she only fucked because he had money..."
My voice trailed off as my relationship with Jake jumped up and bitch slapped me in the face.
Like mother, like daughter...
"Alexa--"
"No," I interrupted, shaking my head while I pressed my eyes more tightly shut. "Ronnie Ann -- clichés breed more clichés."
Another sick surge of emotion threatened to send me crashing toward the floor. My body sagged forward until Jake started to put his arms around me to keep me from falling.
"No," I bit out, my hands shoving against his chest. Free from his grip, I should have grabbed my bag and run like hell, but all I could do was stumble to the nearest chair and collapse.
Jake followed after me. He planted his hands on my shoulders, his strength and leverage ensuring I couldn't change my mind about escaping.
When I didn't continue with the story, he released my shoulders. A second later I heard the scrape of another chair along the linoleum floor. He sat down next to me, his long legs and the table caging me in.