She started typing.
Call me. Now. Make me come.
She didn’t care if the twins were home. She could come very, very quietly.
“Aunt Lola!” Harry. Shouting her name. With something like terror in his voice.
She pushed Send and snapped the keyboard on her phone shut. Flinging open first the door of the bathroom, then her bedroom door, she scurried into the hall. She saw a flurry of white as Ghost darted under the bed.
Gray stood in the front entry, his fists bunched at his sides, a glower on his face. The twins flanked him, their eyes wide.
“We—we didn’t do—do anything, Aunt Lola.” William actually stammered.
“We need to talk.” Gray’s jaw was as clenched as his fists. The lines of his face were strained. And something Neanderthal glittered in his eyes.
She almost couldn’t speak. He stole her breath, even her power to move her mouth. All she could do was point to her office, and back up the couple of steps to get there before he was on her.
“Inside,” he ordered.
Her knees felt like jelly and her calf muscles almost failed.
Need to be buried deep inside U. Need to hear U scream.
Oh God. Oh yes.
Gray stormed past her. She shot the boys a look. “Are you ready for the pool?” she asked, a bit amazed she could say anything at all.
They nodded in unison, their eyes still saucer-wide.
“Then I’ll take care of whatever’s bothering Coach Barnett.” They remained rooted to the spot, so Lola pointed toward the open front door. “Go.”
They jumped, ran out, the door shaking in its frame behind them, the pounding of their feet on the outer stairs shuddering through the whole condo. As if the sound was his cue, Gray yanked her inside the office, shoved the door closed, and pushed the lock. Then he was on her. Grabbing her waist, he hauled her up. Lola wrapped her legs around his hips, and he stepped back, then turned. At the desk, he kicked aside the chair and plopped her down on top of papers and folders, a pen jabbing her backside. Lola didn’t care.
Gray reached past her and flipped the blinds closed. Cupping her cheeks in his big hands, he held her head, his mouth descending. But before he actually kissed her, he growled, “I am so going to fuck you.”
There were a million questions, not the least of which was So if you want me so bad, why haven’t you called me or texted me for three days?
Then his lips were on hers, his tongue invading, his relentless kiss pushing her head back. He devoured her. She had never been so consumed by a man, so powerless beneath his need. His desire fueled her own. Her hands on his arms, she sank her nails into the material of his suit jacket. Tightening her legs around him, she dragged him closer, until his body met the juncture of her thighs, caressed her, turned her liquid, then set her on fire.
She was dizzy by the time he pulled back.
“You want me to fuck you, Lola?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice raspy, unlike herself at all.
“Then pull up your skirt.”
She wriggled, shoving aside the folders and knocking papers to the floor, and yanked the skirt up over her hips until she was bare-assed on the desk. The thong she wore didn’t count for much, and he tugged it aside. The fragile fabric tore. He didn’t apologize, simply jerked harder until the whole thing tore away. Thank goodness, it wasn’t the ruffled Macy’s panty.
He sucked in a breath, shot it back out. His eyes glazed as he looked down at her. “You’re so fucking wet for me. I knew you would be the minute I sent you that text.”
“You made me want to touch myself,” she admitted.
“Do it now.” He looked up, captured her gaze, compelled her.
She pushed the keyboard over, nudged a monitor out of the way, then leaned back on one hand and spread her legs wider. The skirt rode higher.
“Jesus, I need to see.” Impatient, he tugged her hand down.
Then she was touching herself, slipping in all her wetness. “You do it. It’s better when you do.”
He covered her fingers, his big hand over hers, and together they massaged her. Then he slid down, penetrated her with two fingers. Lola gasped. Her body contracted.
He put his head back, let out a long exhale. “Christ, I love it when you do that on my cock.”
Then he shoved a hand in his suit pocket and produced a condom. “Open it.”
“Do you always carry those?”
He laughed softly. “Since I met you, yes. I protect what’s mine.”
The possessiveness in the words edged her higher. She bit her lip as a wave of pleasure rushed over her. Not an orgasm, but a precursor.
He played the button of her clitoris as she took the condom packet and tore it open. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to concentrate when you’re doing that.” Her chest heaved as she started to pant.
“You’re a smart multitasker,” he said. “Undo my pants.”
Her hands shook as she unzipped him, leaving his belt buckled, just as they had on Monday. His desk, now her desk. His cock was huge in her hand when she pulled him from his briefs. Unable to resist temptation, she curled her fist around him, stroked lightly, swirling her finger in the drop of pre-come on his tip.
He loosed a long sigh. “Damn you.” But he didn’t halt her exploration.
Damn him for driving her mad with his fingers. She pushed him away—“Stop it”—then slowly rolled the condom down his length. Holding him at the base, her hand clamped around the bottom of the condom, she worked the crown of his cock, trapping him in the circle of her thumb and finger.
“Dirty bitch,” he whispered with feeling.
“You love that I am.”
“Yes, I do.” He cupped her face in his palm. “I love what you do to me.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “Now quit playing and put me inside you before I go stark raving mad.”
She wanted him stark raving mad. Everything he said, everything he did made her feel special, ratcheted her tension higher. She needed to hear it.
“Whatever you want, Coach.” She reeled him in with her legs around his waist, locking her ankles at his back.
Holding her breath, she closed her eyes as he slid slowly inside. His breath fanned her cheek, and his words drifted through her mind.
“Oh God, yeah, baby, so good.”
She liked all his dirty words, but baby was better than slut. Slut was dirty, crazy desire, but baby slipped into wild need for her alone.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he murmured. “You’re so tight. So perfect.”
He filled every inch of her, all the way to her throat, her heart. And he was right, it was better than good, it was perfect.
He dropped his chin to her shoulder, buried his face in her hair, and clutched her butt in his hands. Then he hauled her closer and began a slow grind against her, inside her. Her nerve endings fired. A fast pump was good for the end, but this slow riding of her G-spot melted her, made her quiver, turned her into mere flesh and need.
“Lean back,” he demanded. “I need to see.”
She went back on both hands. He was fully dressed, his cock the only naked thing about him. Her legs were spread; her body filled with thick, hard flesh. The decadent sight was enough to steal her breath all over again.
She rolled her lips between her teeth, bit down, the pain intensifying the pleasure.
“This is beautiful.” He leaned back for better exposure.
She squeezed her muscles.
He let his head fall back. “Oh fuck. What you do to me, baby.” His breath sighed out.
She tightened her legs in a fast move, yanking him deeper, a spear of pleasure shooting through her. “Stop playing,” she demanded, ready, needy. “Faster.”
Her words, maybe the command in them, suddenly made him wild. He pounded into her. The desk was sturdy but the monitors swayed beside her. The wood groaned beneath her.
Then she didn’t care about anything, only this, his cock in her, his hands on h
er, his mouth taking hers as he dragged her down with him.
20
FUCK. WHAT HAD HE DONE?
As ill-advised as it had been, it was also too damn good to disparage. She was tight in his arms, her face pressed to his chest. He was still inside her, still pulsing, his body still electric like a live wire. Papers were scattered on the floor at their feet. Her ruined panties were a scrap of blue against the beige carpet, the torn condom packet a yellow splotch.
“You okay?”
“Mmm,” she mumbled against his chest.
Palms to her cheeks, thumbs under her chin, he tipped her head back. Lashes fanned against her skin, her eyes were closed. “You okay?” he repeated.
“Fuck yes,” she said on a breath.
He laughed softly. It was his word, not hers, but it said it all.
“Did I scream?” she asked.
“Hell if I know. I’m not sure about myself either.”
“You’re bad.” She still hadn’t opened her eyes.
“Hell, yes.” He flexed his cock inside her for good measure.
She moaned.
“Do you think they came back?” he asked.
“Who?”
“Heckle and Jeckle.” She’d mentioned the names somewhere along the way.
“Who are they?
“Your nephews.”
“Do I have nephews?”
He laughed. “How easily we forget.”
She smiled and finally opened her eyes. “What you just did to me blew a few brain cells.”
“It fried some of mine.” But it was so damn good, he couldn’t pull out. “I’m supposed to be working.”
“So am I.” She closed her eyes and hummed a little pleasure sound. “But who cares.”
“The monsters weren’t supposed to be here.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t know I kept you so well apprised of their schedule.”
“I make it my business to check.”
“Their instructor had to cancel. And to answer your question, no, they won’t come back. Not until you’re long gone. You terrified them.”
He stroked her hair, smoothed it for her. “A little terror keeps them in line.”
He kept talking because he didn’t want to pull away. She was so goddamn warm and slick around him.
But his phone vibrated in his pocket. Work. Things to accomplish. Obligations. There was nothing to do but ease out of her. Grabbing a tissue from a box on the desk, he removed the condom, tossed it in her trash, then zipped up.
When he turned, she was pulling her skirt down. She reached between the monitors to open the blinds again, then straightened her papers and folders, picked up the ones that had fallen to the carpet.
Gray swooped down to grab the discarded condom package and scooped up her panties at the same time. He handed them to her.
She looked at the torn material a long moment.
“Sorry I ripped them.”
When she glanced up, her lips curved in a sultry smile. “I liked it. Very sexy.” She put her hand to her hair. “Do I look okay?”
Not that it mattered since the boys were gone, but she was more than okay in his eyes. Her cheeks glowed with a light blush of color, her lips were just-kissed plump and red, her hair as smooth as silk. She looked good enough to spend the afternoon in bed with, then the night. And the next day, too. But he went for understatement. “You look perfect.”
She patted his hair, straightened his collar, adjusted his tie. “You’re good, too. All set for work.” Then she skirted him, heading to the door.
“You know that wasn’t punishment,” he said. “We’ve gone way beyond that.”
Hand on the doorknob, ready to unlock it, she said, “I know. But I still have to give the twins an excuse.”
“Does it matter? They think I’m a slave driver anyway.”
She smiled, then snorted a soft laugh. “And I totally agree with them on that, since you’ve made me your sex slave.”
He took the three strides to her, wrapped his hand around her nape, and hauled her up against his chest. The kiss was hard and fast, but her taste consumed him.
She had it wrong. The one enslaved was him.
* * *
“YOU KNOW, YOU’VE BEEN EXTREMELY STINGY WITH DETAILS.” Charlotte nursed her skinny soy vanilla latte.
The boys were getting their daily exercise courtesy of their slave driver coach at football camp, and being that it was a gorgeous Saturday morning, Lola had craved a white chocolate mocha. Of course, one couldn’t truly enjoy a calorie-filled coffee drink and whipped cream topping without company, so she’d invited Charlotte. And not because she wanted to talk about that stupendous episode in her office, of course.
The coffee bar was packed, the order line seven deep, some of those being couples or families, and another five or six hovering by the pickup counter. The corduroy couch and its two armchairs were taken, the four chair groupings full, and the five tables in the back occupied. Charlotte and Lola had swooped in on a departing couple and snagged two comfy leather chairs with a small table between them. The air was redolent with coffee concoctions and baked goods heated in the oven. The house specialty was a gooey cinnamon roll dripping with frosting. Lola had not ordered the cinnamon roll, just the mocha.
“Details embarrass me,” she said. Plus, they were in a packed coffee house where anyone could overhear them. Sure, the noise was close to deafening, but that just meant they had to speak louder to be heard.
Charlotte leaned on the arm of her chair, her legs curled beneath her, her upper body extending over the table between them. “You cannot possibly be embarrassed around me. Not only am I your friend, but honestly, honey, I’ve heard it all.”
Lola rubbed her napkin over a smudge on the table. Yesterday in her office had been extraordinary, thrusting her a step higher on the terrifying heights of the can-I-live-without-him ladder. First it had been Sure, I can live without this, but it’s a lot of fun. After Monday in his office, it was God, this is so good that I could actually tolerate it all the time. Which wasn’t the same as saying I can’t live without him. Today was I can’t stop thinking about him, wanting him, needing him. Still not quite I can’t live without him, but horrifyingly close.
“Charlotte, I think I’m in over my head.”
Charlotte gasped and put a hand to her chest. “Do tell.”
“It started out as just sex.” Lola mouthed the last word. “And it’s still just sex”—she mouthed the word again. “But I think I’m pretty hooked on him. And when our six weeks of football camp and punishment are over”—and they were halfway through their six weeks—“I don’t think I can bear it when he dumps me.”
Charlotte dropped the eager-for-dirty-details attitude and gave Lola’s problem real consideration. “First, it’s not when, but if or maybe. And you told me he said it wasn’t punishment any longer. That doesn’t sound like he’s thinking about dumping you at the end of the six weeks either.”
“And then there’s his kid,” Lola heaped on. “I get the sense they don’t have a great relationship and that he would totally resent his dad dating anyone.”
“So what you’re saying is that you’re a cliché, damned if you do and damned if you don’t.”
“Exactly.” She’d be crushed if he walked away. But she couldn’t handle a teenage kid either, especially a resentful one. The darling princelings were a perfect example. Really, what kind of woman would make up all sorts of not-so-nice names for her nephews? A woman who really couldn’t get along with kids in general.
“So you want him but not his son.”
Excuses popped into her mind. No, of course she didn’t mean that. It was just stepping into a difficult situation. What if she made their relationship worse? But that’s what they were, excuses. So she admitted the truth. “Yeah, I’m not ready to handle a guy with . . .”
“Baggage,” Charlotte supplied.
“God, that makes me a terrible person, doesn’t it?”
“It makes you honest. But let me throw out something you might not have considered.” Ah, there was the psychologist in Charlotte. “Maybe he doesn’t want to introduce you to his son either. There’s no requirement that you need to have a relationship with his son to have a relationship with him. You could date, you could have sex, you could go on holidays together, and do all the things that normal couples do.”
“Just not on the weekends he sees his son.” Though she still wasn’t exactly sure what his custody arrangements were.
“Precisely.” Charlotte gave her a smug, self-satisfied smile.
Lola eyed her. “Is that what you would recommend to one of your clients in the same situation?”
Charlotte pursed her lips. “Not precisely.”
“Because it wouldn’t really work.”
“No. Because most of them come to me when the kids are already a problem. I’m offering you a suggestion so that he doesn’t become a problem. Limit your contact with the kid now.”
“What if Gray doesn’t go for that?”
“You won’t know until you ask him.”
“But I don’t really want a relationship like normal people have relationships. I’m just not ready for him to walk away.”
“So tell him exactly what you do want.”
“Umm . . .” She didn’t know what she wanted.
“Chicken,” Charlotte goaded.
Yes. Totally. She didn’t want to define it only to have him say no. But she didn’t want him to say yes, then change his mind later. God, she was crazy. “How old do you have to be before you stop being chicken?”
“Depends on the chicken. But even chickens can change their spots if they want to.”
“You’re mixing metaphors. I think that’s a leopard.”
“Whatever.” Charlotte flapped her hand, barely missing her coffee cup. “Most people don’t say what they really want. They wait for the other person to figure it out. And the other person is waiting for them. And nobody says anything and nobody gets what they want.” She huffed out a breath, then smiled and put a hand to her chest. “And then they come to me.”
The Naughty Corner Page 18