Tasting Fear

by Shannon McKenna

  He stifled her protest with a hot, persuasive kiss. She grasped his wrists for balance. Wow. But this was his office, for God’s sake.

  “Just a kiss,” he said, nuzzling her throat. “Every time I passed the conference room, my dick got hard. Don’t worry. Door’s locked.”

  “That makes it worse!” she protested. “Everyone is speculating!”

  “What everyone? Everybody’s gone home but Bruce, and he’s already drawn his conclusions.” He gripped her hips, dragging her closer. “I did a crazy thing today,” he said, between ravenous kisses.

  “Oh, really?” She laughed, breathlessly. “Crazier than usual?”

  “Yeah. I was supposed to convince my sister Ellie to change her major from theater back to economics.” His arms tightened, grinding his erection against the melting sweet spot. She could hardly breathe.

  “So I called her,” he continued, his voice silky. “I was about to do my spiel. And then I found your petals.”

  “Really?” Nell said. Her panties were a whisper-thin barrier between the scorching heat and hardness of his erection. “And?”

  “And I told her to go for it.” He sounded astonished at himself.

  Nell was startled into lucidity. “Just like that?”

  “There I was, rose petals all over me. I couldn’t bring her down.”

  Nell’s heart swelled. She cradled his face in her hands and kissed him. “Congratulations,” she whispered. “You did a great thing.”

  He cupped his hand behind her head and deepened the kiss.

  Her long sweater skirt was rucked up high on her thighs, over the same beige gartered stockings she’d worn the day before, and his erection pressed against the gusset of her panties, behind which was a melting, throbbing ache of rising desire. She pulled away, gasping for breath. “I’m going to give you a great big wet spot,” she warned him.

  “Only one thing to do about that.” He lifted her up so she stood on her feet, cupping her bottom so she couldn’t wiggle away. He wrenched his belt loose and his pants open. His cock sprang up, empurpled and huge. He slid his finger inside the crotch of her panties and into that hot, liquid well, swirling and stroking. A tug against her hip, fabric ripped, and he pulled her back down, fitting her over himself.

  Forcing the thick club of his penis slowly, insistently inside her.

  She braced herself against his chest. “Hey! Hold on! I spoiled you this morning, but don’t you dare start to think you can play dangerous games with me without protection whenever you feel like it!”

  He slid relentlessly deeper. “I always feel like it with you.”

  “You’re not the one who pays the price if there is a mishap!”

  He stopped moving, and cupped her cheek, stared into her eyes with fierce intensity. “That’s not true. I always take responsibility for what I do. I would never bail out on you, Nell.”

  Um. Nice sentiment, but Nell wasn’t precisely sure of its practical applications, and she was afraid to ask. And her body was betraying her. She could barely speak, swaying on top of him, quivering around his cock, squeezing him convulsively inside herself. She coordinated her shaky voice. “How do you take responsibility for an irresponsible thing? It’s contradictory!”

  His fingers bit into her hips, dragging her against him. “That’s way too deep for a guy like me,” he said. “Especially when all the blood in my body’s been diverted to my dick.”

  “That’s a cheap excuse,” she shot back, writhing helplessly.

  “Just doing what I can,” he said. “Your waitress friend told me I could make up for my intellectual shortcomings by being good in bed.”

  Her eyes popped open. “She didn’t!”

  “She did,” Duncan said solemnly.

  “Oh, my God.” She covered her face with her hands, and began to laugh. “I can’t believe them. I just can’t believe it.”

  “I have to admit, I found it kind of comforting,” he mused. “I figured, maybe there’s hope, you know? Even for a meathead like me.”

  “Oh, you just shut up!”

  “Good thing you like ’em big and stupid, right?”

  She swatted at him. “Stop it! You’re making it worse!”

  “Oh, no. Not worse. Better,” he said. “I won’t stop. It feels fucking amazing. Those little fluttery clenches around my dick, every time you laugh. Laugh all you want. I’ll keep you laughing as long as I can.”

  She pressed her hand to his mouth, chest hitching, eyes watering with shaky giggles. “Shhh. Really. Please, Duncan, damn it. I’m serious. Stop.”

  “Fuck, no.” He pulled her hand down, grinning. “So this guy walks into this bar—”

  “Shhh!” She stared into his eyes. “Just don’t get me pregnant,” she said. “Do. Not. Get it? I’ve got enough to feel scared about right now. Is that clear?”

  He nodded, and kissed her palm. “I won’t come inside you,” he promised. “I won’t even move. I’ll sit like a statue. Your personal life-sized sex toy. You just squeeze me, ride me, do whatever you want with me until you come. Sound good?”

  Oh, boy, did it ever. So good, it stole her breath, her voice.

  She did as he offered, squeezing him inside her until her lower body flushed with pleasure, shaking with firecracker jolts.

  He kept his promise, though she could tell that it cost him. It took a while to get there, with him so motionless. He trembled, holding her arms in a tight grip, staring at her face as she writhed and whimpered, too lost to pleasure to be self-conscious. It was a long, slow climb, but the outcome was inevitable. He caught her as she arched back and launched into free fall, his growl of satisfaction vibrating through her.

  She collapsed over his shoulder, breathless and limp. Blushing and damp with sweat as the aftershocks rippled through her. She could feel his heartbeat in his cockhead, throbbing against her womb, he was wedged so deep inside her. A deep, steady, pulsing rhythm. So close.

  She lifted her head and was startled by the look on his face. It was no longer that taut, tense mask of self-control that he’d worn while she was pleasuring herself with his body. It was soft. Almost wistful.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked him.

  He touched her eyebrow, then her cheekbone, then her lips. “I was just wondering what a baby of ours might look like.”

  The feeling that pierced her was indefinable. Joy, terror, fury. That bastard. How dare he. Playing with her emotions.

  “You bastard. Don’t say crazy things like that to me,” she forced out, through shaking lips. “It’s not fair. It’s…irresponsible.”

  He shrugged. “You asked.”

  So she had. Her hands shook. They stared at each other. Both fully clothed, but she had never felt so naked.

  She untangled her legs from his, set her feet on the ground, and lifted herself up. They sucked in air in unison at the sweet slide, the delicious friction as his cock caressed her sensitized inner flesh. The cold air that hit them when they were separated.

  She stared down at his cock. It stood high and hopeful against his belly. Rigid, pulsing. Gleaming with her own juices.

  She had no intention of sinking to her knees. It just happened. She grabbed his thick, pulsing handle, stroking smooth, hot skin, and licked him, tasting herself. It was a classic thousand-dollar-an-hour call-girl scenario. Riding the boss on his swivel chair in the high-rise corner office. On her knees under the desk giving him a blow job. It looked sordid, squalid. Even pornographic, from the outside.

  But she wasn’t on the outside. She was so far inside, she was in a new universe, where the rules had changed. She herself was different. Softer, more joyful, more sensual. Fearless. And shameless. Just this desperate desire to give to him flowing out of her, from her chest, her face, her throat, her crotch. All aglow.

  Of course. She was miles in love with him.

  She let that thought slide away. She didn’t dare examine it, and besides, it took all her concentration to fellate a man as ridiculously well endowed
as Duncan Burke. He was hung like the proverbial horse, and she was far from expert. But oh, so motivated.

  She petted and stroked, swirled with her tongue around his cockhead, and tried to draw him deeper. Loving the sounds, the shaking grip of his hands in her hair, the shudders that went through him. She was just getting the hang of it and starting to hit her stride when his fingers tightened, and he let out a choked, desperate shout.

  His come spurted into her mouth in hard, rhythmic jets.

  She got to her feet after a few silent, shaking minutes, holding on to the desk for balance. She wiped her mouth, too shy to look at him.

  He grabbed her and dragged her over between his legs, hugged her tightly around the waist, hid his face against her breasts.

  Her chest melted, her shyness evaporated, leaving only tenderness. He felt vulnerable, too. And somehow, that made it okay.

  They swayed in that clinch for a long time. Finally he looked up. “There’s a private en suite bathroom with a shower, off my office.”

  She widened her eyes. “Holy cow, Burke. How luxurious and elitist of you. What, can’t bear to pee with the hoi polloi?”

  His teeth flashed in the deepening twilight. “Every now and then I pamper myself,” he admitted. “I like to run to work. And I like to smell good. I keep fresh clothes here. So we can clean up. If you want.”

  “You ripped my panties,” she lectured him. “Beast.”

  He gave her an exaggeratedly innocent look. “If I’d stopped to peel them all the way down your legs, you’d have wimped out on me.” He caressed her buttocks through her skirt. “I’ll buy you new ones. If we hurry, we have time for dinner before we meet your sisters in Queens.”

  “What about the texts that I have to write for the game? I have to have something ready for Bruce tomorrow!”

  He shrugged. “You need to eat. Come on.” He grabbed her hand, and dragged her through a door and into a small but luxurious bathroom.

  “Hey! Wait,” she said, laughing. “I thought we were in a hurry.”

  He flashed his devilish grin in answer, grabbed a fluffy white towel off a pile on a shelf, and dropped it in her arms. “Everything’s relative.”

  He shrugged off his suit jacket, and she froze at the sight of the gun strapped onto his shoulder. “Um, Duncan?” she asked, in a small voice. “What on earth are you doing with that, uh, thing?”

  He slanted her an “are you kidding” look. “Being careful,” he said. “Those guys were armed. I wasn’t. It was just blind luck and timing that they didn’t kill me and take you, because I wouldn’t have been able to stop them if they’d been better organized. They weren’t expecting any resistance, but they will be the next time they go for you. Don’t worry. I can handle myself with this thing.” He unbuttoned her blouse, peeled her stretch lace chemise off over her head.

  She gazed at him through the disarranged mess of curly hair that fell over her face. “Don’t worry,” she murmured. “I have absolutely no doubts about your ability to handle, um…just about anything.”

  He proceeded to live up to her faith in him. To the fullest.

  Duncan looked around Malloy’s. Too many people crowded together. Not safe. Good thing he’d had jeans and a polo to change into at the office, because he’d have felt like a fucking clown in his suit.

  He’d never been in an Irish pub, and the loud, noodling melody of the Irish tunes played by the table of musicians made his brain pound.

  But whatever. He’d follow Nell D’Onofrio to the bowels of hell. Complaining bitterly all the way, sure. But he’d be there.

  His attention was weirdly divided into independently functioning units. One constantly scoped the scene for attackers. Another was anxious about meeting Nell’s sisters, who might or might not want to toss his entrails into the gutter if he didn’t adhere to some incomprehensible code of behavior. A third was intensely aware of the fact that Nell wore no panties. She looked decorous and ladylike, her tidy blouse stretching slightly across her tits, her long sweater skirt reaching to her ankles.

  Paradoxically, that made it even worse. Her sexy secret. If he slipped his hand under that skirt and slid it up over her stockings, he’d find just hot, velvety skin between her legs. Warm fuzz. Damp ringlets. Tender, moist pink folds inside her pussy lips. That hot, tight, slick well.

  Talk about distracting.

  They were the last to arrive, since he’d insisted on tanking up at a good steak and burger joint that he knew near the Midtown Tunnel, to get some protein into her. When they walked into the bar, two women leaped up and went straight for Nell, sneaking fascinated peeks at him.

  He was grateful for the noise level, so he didn’t have to hear what they were whispering. Whatever it was made her blush furiously.

  “Duncan, this is my sister Vivi,” Nell spoke loudly into his ear, indicating the smaller of the two, a waiflike, slender girl with long red hair and big gray eyes. “And this is Nancy.” She touched the shoulder of the other woman, a pale beauty with hazel eyes and long, curly auburn hair that reached her ass. “This is Duncan, my, ah, friend,” she told them. “And that tall guy at the table playing the fiddle is Liam, Nancy’s fiancé.”

  The tune finished with a flourish and a burst of hoots and hollers. The guy whom Nell had pointed at glanced over at them, laid his fiddle on the table, and excused himself, to unanimous cries of protest. He came toward them, sizing Duncan up with keen green eyes. He had a strong grip and a clear, unwavering gaze. Nell had told him the story of how Liam had defended her sister Nancy from the Fiend.

  He was a good judge of men, after years as a field agent. This Liam seemed okay to him. A guy he’d want at his back. That was good.

  The musicians launched into a new tune, louder than the one before. “Let’s go sit at a table in the back!” Liam shouted over the din.

  The back room was deserted. They sat down around a table and Duncan silently, stoically endured their collective scrutiny.

  “So, Duncan,” the sister named Vivi finally broke the silence. “I’ll just start things off by saying thanks for saving Nell’s ass for us.”

  “My pleasure,” he replied.

  “Yes, I’m grateful, too,” Nancy said. “But that brings us to a very important issue. Nell, you and Vivi can’t live in New York alone anymore. You should both leave the city. Go into hiding. I know it sounds dramatic, but so is getting jumped by three guys on Lafayette.”

  Sensible though that was, Duncan was instantly unhappy about the prospect of Nell leaving town. But no worries. Nell was shaking her head, true to form. As contrary with her sisters as she was with him.

  “I am so close to getting my doctorate,” she said, her voice rebellious. “It’s taken me years having to work full-time while I do it, but I’m almost there. I’m not going to let this butthead take that from me.”

  “But where will you live? You could stay with me and Liam, but you’d be exposed every time you traveled back and forth—”

  “She’ll live with me,” Duncan cut in.

  All eyes cut to him. There was a flurry of silent signals, significant glances. Nell leaned over to him. “Duncan, do you mind?” she hissed. “This is not an issue for everyone to—”

  “Wrong. It is now, babe,” Vivi said sternly. “You’re my sister, and I don’t want you snatched. How’s the security in your building, Duncan?”

  “Good,” he replied. “Even better when I’m with her. Which I’ll make a point of being, as much as possible. And if I can’t, for any reason, I’ll make arrangements for a professional bodyguard.”

  Nell glared at him. He stared back, unrepentant. The sisters and the future brother-in-law glanced exchanged nods of cautious approval.

  “I’d like to be included in the decision-making process here,” Nell snapped. “And who’s going to pay for a bodyguard? They’re expensive!”

  “So Nell’s covered,” Liam went on, ignoring her. “That leaves you, Viv. You can stay with us. You shouldn’t go back on the road. At le
ast not unless you change your name.”

  Vivi looked forlorn. “You’re sweet, Liam, but staying with you guys is not a long-term solution. I’m the only one of us with no pressing reason to stay in New York. But I can’t do the crafts fair circuit if I don’t use my own name, or else I’d be starting from zero all over again. I can’t afford that now, after six years of working my ass off to build my brand.”

  Nancy looked worried. “I thought you wanted to quit the circuit!”

  Her younger sister looked wistful. “Sure, when I’ve saved enough to buy a little house someplace beautiful. Someplace with lots of trees, where my dog can run around. Where I can have a big studio, do sculpture again, maybe open my own shop. But that’s just fantasy. I lost thousands of bucks in registration fees when I came back for Lucia’s funeral. Then I lost more after the Boston adventure, too. I’m playing catch-up now. With my credit card.”

  Duncan squinted at her, thinking hard. Trees, flowers, a big art studio, far from New York. He had an idea. A fucking awesome idea.

  “I know a place you might be able to go,” he said.

  They all turned. “What might that place be?” Vivi asked slowly.

  “I’ve got this friend. I met him in Afghanistan,” he said. “We were on an intelligence-gathering task force. He got out of that line of work a few years ago and bought a place out in Oregon. He’s into organic gardening, horticulture, that kind of thing. Grows flowers, I think. The guy he bought the land from was an artist who’d converted the barn into a studio, with a little apartment in a loft above it.”

  Liam and Nancy gave each other speculative glances.

  “And why would this guy want to host me there?” asked Vivi.

  Duncan shrugged. “He’s not an artist, so he doesn’t need the studio. He doesn’t raise animals, so he doesn’t need the barn. He built his own house, so he doesn’t need the apartment. He likes dogs. Maybe he’d consider renting it to you. Want me to talk to him about it?”

  Bully and guilt-trip him was more like it. Jack owed Duncan his life, like Gant. Actually, they all owed each other, but Duncan would bring out the big guns to help Nell’s sister. And the best part was, Jack was a serious bad-ass. If anyone gave Vivi trouble, Jack could handle it.