COME WHEN CALLED (Billionaire & Biker Menage Romance)

by Trace, Piper

  He shifted, moving one hand to the back of her head to cup her skull in his palm. Tightening his grip, he secured a fistful of her hair and tilted her head back to look up at him. She gasped. It didn’t hurt, but his handling was oddly forceful and she was stunned when a powerful spasm of lust reverberated from her core at the rough treatment.

  He inclined his face, his hand still gripped in her hair. She could almost feel the brush of his lips on hers as he spoke. “In fact,” he purred, “I could bend you over this table right now and fuck you until you screamed and no one would even hear.” He put emphasis on the “fuck”, hitting the K hard, and the raw sound of the word affected her physically, as if he’d run his tongue down her body.

  Her body was shouting at her, “Bend over the table! Bend over the table!” betraying her determination not to get caught screwing a client in the library. She managed a barely audible, “You could?”

  He pushed his other hand the remaining fraction of distance up her inner thigh and found the spot she knew he’d intended. He stroked one strong finger down the wet satin between her legs and this time she didn’t even try to stop her moan as his fingertip pressed hard over her swollen clit. “Yes,” he said simply, “I could.”

  “Oh god,” she closed her eyes and whispered, forgetting everything except how much she wanted this man. How long she’d wanted him. Human beings aren’t meant to be solitary creatures and Evie had gone too long without touch because of John.

  Her need to be close to a man—to touch him intimately and be touched by his strong hands in return—clawed to the surface and took over. That neglected, essential instinct in her would not be denied this chance. It was as if she’d been in hibernation and was now finally awaking to a warm and glorious sun. And she wanted to bask naked in it.

  She licked her lips. “Please.”

  Kneading three fingers against the fabric that clung to her engorged labia, Ford kissed Evie on the cheek and then moved to her ear, dropping kisses in the indentation under her earlobe before nuzzling his way down her neck. Her head dropped back and her lips parted as wildfire seemed to surge through her veins.

  “My pretty Evie,” he whispered against her skin. “I think you need to come.” He adjusted the movement of his fingers to a circular motion that made her head swim. From somewhere deep in the recesses of her thoughts came a small, worried voice—you should make him stop. But her visceral need for touch, intimacy, release, told that voice in no uncertain terms to fuck off. Moving his lips against her ear he asked, “Do you want me to make you come?”

  Daring to touch him, she lifted a hand to the bicep of the arm and she could feel the cords of his muscles roll under her fingertips as he worked his fingers against her pussy. His solidly built arm felt like a buttress under her palm, and she closed her eyes and gave herself over to him. He felt strong. Safe.

  How was it this man felt safe to her when there was nothing safe about him?

  A glowing euphoria was expanding from the center of her core under his skilled fingers. She was amazed—it wouldn’t be long before her pleasure exploded into an orgasm that promised to be spectacular. And badly needed. Before she had time to second guess, she nodded her head vigorously, whispering, “Yes, yes,” against his hot cheek.

  “Yes what? I want to hear you say it.”

  Frustration and unease twisted in her, but not wanting to give him a reason to stop touching her, she followed his instructions. “I want you to make me come.” Her voice sounded meek, reflecting her embarrassment. She wasn’t shy, but she’d never flat-out asked a man to give her an orgasm before.

  Pulling his head back, he met her eyes, his green ones hooded and smoldering. He stilled his fingers and she nearly groaned at the loss. “Then here are my terms, Evangeline. First, you must do exactly as I say.” He raised his eyebrows as if challenging her to protest. When she didn’t, but only stared back at him, open mouthed and—she was sure—wide-eyed, he continued in a purr. “After I make you come—and I will make you come—it will be my turn. You are going to kneel between my legs, do what I tell you to do, and then you’re going to let me come in your mouth, and you’re going to swallow it.” He raised a hand to her chin and pressed his thumb across her bottom lip. “Agreed?”

  Holy hell, he was negotiating their sexual encounter.

  Yet, though she’d been close to climax moments before, somehow his taking charge had shifted the potential of her orgasm to another level. A level she didn’t even know existed. And she wanted that orgasm.

  Ford’s voice was low and intimate. “Evie, after I’m done taking care of you, you will want to please me. I’m willing to guarantee your satisfaction.” Amusement played around his lips, quirking them into that bad-boy, pursed smile of his that made her crazy. She had to close her eyes to block it out so she could think as he continued. “If you don’t have the best orgasm of your life, you are free to forfeit your end of the bargain. Do we have a deal?” He lowered his lips back to her neck and nuzzled her skin as he waited for her answer.

  The best orgasm of her life?

  God yes, we have a deal.

  Actually, she’d agree to anything if he’d keep talking to her like that and touch her again. Her frequent fantasies of Ford involved him spending a lot of time with his head between her legs, his face wet with her juices. And she could use that “guaranteed” climax.

  Only Ford would negotiate a sexual transaction the same as he would any other business deal. How many times had they sat at that table and planned negotiations together for Ford’s development deals? The only difference here was that Ford was sucking her earlobe and bartering to exchange orgasms. Could she approach it with the same kind of business mindset?

  She’d have to, given that she and Ford couldn’t have a relationship, each for their own good reasons.

  Taking a deep breath, she got down to business, concentrating on the terms and attempting to analyze whether she was getting a good deal. It was hard to put thoughts together with Ford nibbling under her ear, but she didn’t become a top paralegal without learning how to think fast under less than ideal circumstances.

  It felt like a win-win. Maybe even better than a win-win. Evie truly enjoyed giving blowjobs—relished it, even. But what kind of negotiator would she be if she took his first offer? “I will agree to your deal,” she spoke the words next to his ear, her head thrown back as she fought to keep her voice steady. “But only if you use your mouth to make me come, not just your fingers. I want the full treatment.”

  He pulled back, beaming a smile at her, his dimples triggering a sensuous twinge between her legs. He looked proud. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down, love. And I will happily agree to that concession.” His deep voice vibrated through her, his lips so close to Evie’s she could feel his breath on her. “That had been my plan all along. I can’t wait to taste you.” His eyes practically blazed. She’d never seen him so vitalized. It was almost as if…

  Yes. This was really doing it for him—bargaining over their sexual encounter.

  It was certainly a first for her, and, she had to admit, it held a unique appeal in its candidness. Everything clear up front. Everyone gets what they want.

  Licking her lips, Evie tried to let out a slow, controlled breath in an effort not to look rattled. “Then, Mr. Hawthorne,” she said in her best, professional voice, “I believe we have a deal.”

  She’d just negotiated an oral contract for oral sex with the hottest man she’d ever laid eyes on. She could have laughed out loud. It made her feel powerful and risqué, and the combination was quite an aphrodisiac, so said her hard-as-pebbles nipples and her throbbing pussy.

  “Excellent.” He sat back, eyes dancing with delight. “Let’s establish a safe word.”

  “A safe word?” Her stomach twisted as she tried not to sound as stunned as she felt. Certainly she knew what a safe word was, but something like that was for people into extreme sex. It wouldn’t be needed for anything like what she’d just agreed to. Would
it?

  “Love, we’ve made an agreement in which you’ve promised to do everything I ask. It’s important for both of us that you know you can stop at any time if you’re not comfortable or if I’m hurting you. Do you understand?”

  “That sounds reasonable.” And it did. A safe word. Something she could blurt out that would make any discomfort or pain cease immediately. A swell of warmth sparked to life in her chest. Something about Ford establishing this kinky-sounding safe word made her feel protected. He was concerned for her, putting her choices first. She liked the concept of a safe word.

  If only life had a safe word. She’d scream it in John’s face.

  “Good. Do you have a safe word you normally use?”

  “No!” she practically shrieked. His green eyes appeared momentarily wounded at her sharp exclamation. “I’m sorry, I’ve just… No, I don’t have one.” She shifted uncomfortably.

  “You’ve never used one?” She shook her head and an unreadable look passed over his face. “Okay,” he said gently. “Then let’s come up with one for you. Most importantly it should be something memorable, but something you would never normally say or think about during sex.”

  “Like jellybeans?” As soon as the word came out of her mouth, she felt her face flush hot. She’d said the first inane word that came to mind and was mortified at how cutesy it sounded. She should have picked something urbane or edgy, like “sommelier” or “mosh pit”, not a word associated with the Easter Bunny.

  But Ford grinned, dimples beaming. “Yes, exactly like ‘jellybeans’. I love it.” In spite of his assurances, her face grew even hotter. Had he just mentally compared her ridiculous safe word to all the others he’d “worked with” in the past?

  Leaning in, he brushed a kiss on her cheek and whispered next to her ear, “You’re even prettier when you blush, Evangeline.” And suddenly her blush felt like that of a schoolgirl’s with a crush.

  This is a transaction, she reminded herself, not a date. Keep it together.

  In an effort to focus, she took a deep breath, forcing down her misplaced affection for the completely unavailable man in front of her. The man whose cologne, mixed with his natural, male scent, made her heady as he pulled his face back from her cheek.

  His flirtatious smile disappeared and his face grew serious. Her stomach flip-flopped. They had begun.

  Hammering to life again, her heart was in her throat. She’d just put herself in Ford’s hands with no idea what he’d ask her to do. Could she do it?

  “Stand and pull up your skirt, love.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  FORD GAZED LEVELLY at Evie as if he had every confidence she would not defy him. She bit her bottom lip, a gesture she’d always thought she hated in women but realized maybe she’d just never truly been put in a situation that warranted it.

  And this was definitely a bottom-lip-gnawing situation.

  Standing up, her face still feeling flushed pink, she raised her skirt slowly until the hem inched up to reveal her panties, displaying for Ford her bare legs and the vee between her thighs, covered with red satin. She felt exposed, but she watched in fascination as his eyes traced lazily down her form. Pursing his lips in that sexy way of his, he cocked his head, taking his time in examining her. He wasn’t going to make this easy.

  Over his shoulder she could see her reflection in the huge windows against the blackness of the night as she stood in front of him in the library flashing her panties. The shock of that sight alone would have made her call the whole thing off if she hadn’t needed the release he promised so goddamned badly.

  With Ford still seated and Evie in her tall heels, he was nearly at eye-level to her crotch. He wrapped his long fingers around the outside of her bare legs. Though his fingertips felt hot against her, she shivered at the contact. The nerves of her skin felt raw, sensitized to the slightest touch.

  His eyes fixed to the small triangle of red fabric that comprised the only barrier between her tingling core and Ford’s face. He curled his hands around to her butt, her cheeks naked due to the thong she was wearing. Squeezing her ass, he pulled her toward him and ducked to bury his mouth and nose against the damp, scarlet satin, breathing deeply before mouthing her folds from over the fabric.

  She moaned, hardly even aware she’d made the sound. What Ford had done in smelling her—tasting her—through her clothes without any prelude seemed somehow animal, instinctual. It was as if he meant to claim her. The thought made her sigh, but it wasn’t a noise brought on by the actions of his lips against her. It was a sigh of pleasure, knowing what was coming.

  Ford wouldn’t hold back the way many people did during their first encounter with a new partner, feeling them out before they felt comfortable enough to really let loose, if they ever did. No, as he’d said, Ford was an overachiever, and she was about to reap the benefits of his drive for excellence, if she could just play along and keep up.

  Between her legs, he nuzzled his lips against her. It was decadent. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been treated to oral sex. Though John appreciated the blowjobs Evie loved to perform, he wasn’t generous with reciprocation. The few times she’d talked him into it, he’d performed the act with such apathy she’d stopped him out of boredom.

  In contrast, Ford’s lips clutched at her and drew her in as if he couldn’t wait to devour her. A delightful throb steadily gained momentum in her core as he coaxed her closer toward ecstasy.

  Hooking his fingers under each side of her thong, he peeled it off, dragging it down the length of her legs until she stepped out of it, her bare sex now flaunting what she was sure were engorged, rosy lips for his attention. Picking up the discarded lingerie, he stuffed it in his pocket.

  “Hey, I’m gonna need those back.” Evie plucked at the hem of her skirt, inching it down slightly. She felt awkward standing in front of him stripped of her panties while he raked his eyes over her.

  “We’ll see,” he murmured. Cupping his hands on the sides of her legs, he slid his fingers up under her skirt to her hips, and looked up at her. Eyes sparking and voice alive with the same controlled excitement, he said levelly, “Miss Evangeline, I don’t recall telling you to pull down your skirt. Now lift it back up or I’ll have to remove it entirely.”

  Evie’s mouth dropped open at his nerve, yet her hands obeyed him instantly, lifting her skirt as she was told, to expose herself again.

  What was this man doing to her?

  Normally so independent, she stood in front of him on knees weak with desire, displaying herself to him and hungry to obey his sexual demands. Clenching her vaginal muscles, she shivered at the potential there, the taut focusing of the nerve ending toward their instinctual, ultimate goal of blissful oblivion.

  She longed for that oblivion. If she just gave herself over to him and let Ford take control—take his pleasure with her—then maybe she wouldn’t have to think for those glorious moments when he was in charge. And maybe for the first time in six months, or perhaps ever, she could stop feeling so exhaustively alone. Let someone else take care of her, think for her. Right or wrong, it sounded so refreshing and free.

  Being on her own, by default, meant she was always in charge—always the one responsible—whether she wanted it or not. And she was so tired of it. She couldn’t remember a time when she was taken care of, though she knew she must have been, at least when she was a baby. When she was five years old, she’d make herself cereal in the morning, sometimes with milk if they had any, and then would dig through her mom’s purse while the woman slept, passed out, hoping to find enough change so she wouldn’t have to beg for a free school lunch again.

  Growing up that way had created strength inside Evie, but also a powerful weakness. And it was just the leverage John had needed to use her. As a trial lawyer he knew how to read people, spot their wounds and exploit them. And that’s just what he’d done to her. He’d dangled the promise of the safety and security in front of her until she’d let her guard down.


  How ironic that ending up hurt and alone had only fueled her desire to let someone else be in charge. That need burned stronger than ever in her gut, and Ford was pushing all the right buttons. She’d never connected sex with a longing to relinquish control before, and the combination was like a powerful drug to that deeply unsatisfied part of her psyche.

  She wasn’t just ready to do whatever Ford asked her, she was excited to do it, hot to do it, wet to do it. This was a temporary solution with no strings. Perhaps giving Ford control and abandoning herself to the pleasure he promised could allow her to forget. Forget her responsibility, forget to be afraid, maybe even let her feel safe and protected in someone’s strong hands for at least the time it lasted.

  Still seated in the library chair with his hands on her hips, he pulled her to him, his gaze pinned to her naked mound.

  Can he see how wet I am?

  Moving his palms around to cup her buttocks, he squeezed her ass cheeks and pulled her against his face again, burying his nose and mouth into the neat strip of hair that disappeared between her legs. She gasped when his warm lips brushed her sensitive labia. Nothing except her own fingers and her vibrator had been this close to her clit in half a year. She had to fight the urge to clamp her fingers in his dark hair and crush his face between her legs until he brought her to climax again and again. She suspected he could do it.

  He snaked his strong tongue out to explore her, and she groaned and gave in to the urge to place her hands on his head. His hair was so soft. Looking down, she forgot to breathe. Ford Hawthorne’s face was between her legs, his tongue licking her, just like she’d fantasized about so many times. But this was so much better than her fantasies. She didn’t have a vivid enough imagination to have come up with the way this felt. Closing her eyes, she shook her head. She didn’t even know how to process the pleasure and joy that was bubbling in her, but she could lose herself in it.