by Cynthia Sax
I gaze at the gift with wonder, my fingers sinking into its soft white fur. The plush unicorn has a rainbow-colored horn, a long silky mane and tail, and big black button eyes. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Was there a note, Dave?” I ask as the concierge walks away.
“There was no note and no message, Miss Kat.” He smiles over his right shoulder, the skin around his eyes crinkling. “You have a secret admirer.”
“I do.” I smile back and close the door. My admirer is not a secret. I nuzzle my nose against the unicorn’s horn. My behemoth is thinking about me.
I’m thinking about him. I order takeout for lunch, sending one serving of beef and broccoli, extra broccoli, to Henley, and another serving to myself. I don’t include a message, not wanting to influence his decision.
I set the plush unicorn beside me as I eat. “If the employees at Blaine Technologies knew about you, they wouldn’t be so scared of their big tough head of cybersecurity,” I confide. Sunlight dances over the toy, making its shiny black eyes sparkle.
The next delivery is a tray of chocolate-covered strawberries. There’s no note, and three of the six strawberries are missing. I grin. We’re eating lunch together virtually.
Placing my laptop on the desk, I position the camera to face the chair. I shimmy out of my skirt and panties and sit bare-assed on the cushioned seat, wearing only Henley’s black shirt. As I hook my legs over the armrests, his shirt parts to reveal the curve of my breasts, the thin strip of blond hair over my mons, and my pink pussy lips.
Henley has seen my body before. Seeing it again won’t change anything. And I won’t speak. I won’t tell him I miss him, want him, love him.
I bite into one chocolate-covered strawberry and moan, its sweetness exploding in my mouth. The juice dribbles down my chin. I chase the trails, scooping up the red streams with my fingertips and sucking my skin clean. I eat the strawberries slowly, enjoying each one, my eyelids fluttering with appreciation.
I send this footage to my ex-boss, with a copy to Grant as a thank-you, and fantasize that Henley displays the footage on the screens in his office, the images of me surrounding him. He’ll lick his lips as the red strawberry juice runs over my skin, yearning to taste the sweetness. His gaze will lower to my pussy, to my pink skin glistening with moisture, ready for his thick cock.
He’ll unzip his pants, lean back in his black leather chair, and pump himself, his scarred hands gliding along his long shaft. The veins will lift on his forehead, his dark eyes glittering with passion, lines etching around his firm lips.
I shift in my chair, lifting my ass as though offering myself to him. He’ll work his cock harder and harder, fucking himself with a ferocity I can’t match, his gaze fixed on my body, on the shadow between my breasts, the blond hair accessorizing my mons, my feminine folds. His grunts will break the silence, echoing in his office.
I rub my fingers over my pussy, teasing my body. Henley will find release, roaring with ecstasy, his cum arcing in the air, filling the room with the scent of sex. I don’t allow myself this satisfaction, pulling away my hands. My orgasms belong to my behemoth.
The pretty pink gloves arrive three hours later. I don them and sigh with happiness. Wearing them is like dipping my fingers into a ray of light. The leather is sinfully soft and the fit is perfect, the gloves encasing my hands from fingertips to wrists. The color matches my favorite pink suit, the suit I wore to my father’s funeral.
I haven’t worn the garment since that soul-sucking day. I walk to the closet and gaze at the two-piece suit. It’s a work of art, the buttons flower shaped, the piping along the collar delicate, the cut of the blazer ideal for my curvy form. My father loves . . . loved this suit. Tears trickle down my cheeks.
“Objects are meant to be used, you always say . . . said,” I murmur, my throat constricted by sorrow. “Henley must think that also. That’s why he sent me the gloves.” I spread my leather-clad fingers. The color of the gloves isn’t a random choice. Henley investigated my past thoroughly. He knows what I wore for the funeral. “He’s practical, like you.”
I touch my father’s shirt, the garment hanging as though it’ll be donned at any moment. His scent drifts upward, tickling my nose.
“You’ll . . . you would have liked him, Father.” I rub the cuff of his shirt over my face. “Henley has the same sense of humor as you do . . . did. He’s intelligent, responsible, protective.” My new leather gloves absorb the moisture as I wipe away my tears.
Henley cares for me. The gloves, the strawberries, and the plush unicorn aren’t good-bye gifts. Buoyed by my hopes for the future, I reapply my makeup and fix my hair, the familiarity of the routine centering me.
A message pops up on my laptop’s screen.
Henley: Are you wearing them?
He’s thinking about me, and I can’t wait any longer for his decision. I turn on the camera and return to the chair, posing as I did before, with my legs raised and spread, my body clad in the pretty pink gloves, his black shirt, and nothing else.
Looking into the camera, I give Henley my sultriest smile. “I’m wearing your gloves.” I wiggle my gloved fingers. “They’re perfect.” I drift my fingertips over my lips, down my neck, between my breasts and my nipples tighten.
“The leather is exquisitely soft.” I open his shirt, revealing more of my body. “My fingers will feel decadent when I wrap them around your cock.” I cup my breasts, showing them to him. “When I pump you.” I squeeze my breasts, kneading my skin, spiraling my arousal upward.
“Are you hard for me?” I pinch my nipples and gasp as the pain shoots down my torso, the abuse stimulating me. “I’m wet for you.” I lift my hips, showing him my pussy. “But I don’t dare to touch my pussy.” I pull on my nipples and clench around nothing, my pussy frustratingly empty. “I don’t want to stain my gloves with my juices, with my musk.” I breathe deeply, inhaling the mixture of his cologne and my arousal.
I gaze directly into the camera. “Have you made your decision, Henley?” I reach forward, turn off the feed, and send it to my behemoth.
Twenty-one minutes later there’s a knock at the door. My heart pounds. I know who it is and I know what his decision will be. Rushing toward my destiny, I swing the door open and beam at the man I love.
Henley looms over me, big and broad and very angry, his face dark and his lips flat. “You didn’t look through the peephole. I could have been anyone.” His gaze drops, pausing at my barely covered breasts and then again at the hem of his shirt. “You answered the door like that without knowing who was on the other side?”
“I knew it was you,” I squeak, backing into the hotel room as he stalks forward.
“You knew it was me,” he growls, slamming the door behind him. “How did you know it was me? Do I have a distinctive knock?”
“No.” I clasp my hands together, his aggressive mood making me nervous. “I wasn’t one hundred percent certain it was you at the door,” I admit. “I hoped and thought it was.” I tilt back my head and gaze up, up, up at him. “We have a connection.”
“We do, and if you ever risk your safety like that again, my hand will connect with your ass.” Henley grasps my waist and lifts me until I’m at his eye level, my feet dangling in the air. I’ve never felt so tiny, so powerless, my body, heart, and soul in his massive hands. “I made my decision,” he declares.
I place my hands on his shoulders. “Did you?” I swallow hard.
“I made my decision the moment we met.” Henley meets my gaze, his eyes blazing with savage emotion. “I said nothing today because you had doubts, and I wanted you to be certain. My silence wasn’t because I needed the time to think about my answer. You’re mine, kitten, and, as much as I respect your uncle, he won’t ever take my place by your side.” Henley crushes me to him, his chest flattening my breasts, his arms wrapping tightly around me. “I love you.”
I stare at him. “You love me?” I need to hear the words again, to ensure this isn’t
yet another one of my alternate realities, a happy fantasy world I’ve created for myself.
“I love you.” Henley covers my lips with his, pushing past all of my defenses, claiming my mouth. He loves me. I grip his nape, cling to him, owning him as he owns me, my heart soaring with joy, filling with love.
He walks forward, carrying me, and we plummet to the bed, Henley twisting as we fall. He lands on his back. I bounce on top of him, our lips, chests, hips smacking together.
I laugh, light-headed with happiness, and Henley’s lips curl upward, his gaze fixed on my face. “You’re wearing black,” he rumbles.
“Not a single button is fastened.” I pluck at the cotton, revealing more of my breasts. “Would the fashion police at Blaine Technologies consider me to be wearing your shirt?”
“The fashion police at Blaine Technologies are becoming more flexible.” Henley’s eyes glitter. “They’ve given our newest employee permission to wear colors.” He slides his right hand inside his jacket and extracts a passcard. “This is yours.” He presses the rectangle into my palm. Under the horrible photo is my real name: Katalina Volkov. “I’ve attached a pin.” He taps the rhinestone-encrusted H decorating the finely wrought clip. “Try not to lose your passcard again.”
“I’m no longer an employee.” I trace his initial. “You fired me, remember?”
“I fired you as I promised.” Henley brushes an errant curl away from my face. “And now I’m rehiring you.”
“You found a loophole.” I grin at him, happy to be working with him again. “You’re a clever man.” He blushes, my behemoth adorably modest. “And you’ve also branded me with a cute little silver-and-rhinestone H.” I wave the passcard under his nose. “So everyone knows I’m yours.”
“It’s a platinum-and-diamond H.” He spreads the shirt I’m wearing, baring more of my skin. “And, thanks to the camera in the shredding room, everyone already knows you’re mine.” He presses his lips between my breasts, his mouth hot and firm.
“I’m yours.” I clip my passcard to Henley’s jacket lapels, freeing my hands. “And you’re mine.” I run my glove-covered fingers through his short hair, over his skull, and he shudders, his expression blissful. “I can feel everything through these gloves. They’re exquisitely thin.” I stroke down his back, his muscles rippling under my fingertips.
“They’re soft and I’m hard, so very hard.” Henley’s voice lowers. “I can’t last, kitten,” he admits. “I want you too badly.”
“I can’t last either.” I reach down, unfasten his zipper, and push his pants to his knees. The fabric falls to the floor. “I need you inside me.” I wrap my fingers around his hard cock, the pink leather contrasting vividly against his dark skin. “I need to become one with you.”
“Yes.” Henley lowers his big body, nudging his cock head against my pussy, seeking entrance. I spread my legs wider and guide him inside me, moaning as he pushes deeper and deeper, filling my body as no other man can.
“This is what I need.” I bend my knees, cradling him between my thighs, our connection tightening, our bodies, souls, hearts meshing. Henley braces his massive body above me. The plush unicorn watches us from his position on the nightstand, his black button eyes gleaming.
“I have to move.” Henley rocks into me and I tremble, already primed from hours of teasing, the extended foreplay we enjoyed while physically separate and emotionally together.
I wrap my legs around my behemoth and rise into his movements, deepening his thrusts, encouraging him with my heels, hands, mouth. As he labors on top of me, I stroke his fabric-covered back, nibble his neck, tasting the salt of his skin, savoring his strength, his warmth.
I want, need to taste more of him. “You’re wearing too many clothes.” I push the jacket off Henley’s shoulders and pluck at his cotton shirt, yearning to feel his body against mine. He growls and yanks on the garment. Fabric rips. Plastic buttons bounce off my breasts, the pings of sharp pain exciting me.
His tanned skin is bared to me and I purr with happiness, tracing his scars with my gloved fingers, following the ridges. “You’re magnificent, Henley.” I drag my fingertips across his back and he jerks, his cock bobbing inside my pussy. “Easy.” I laugh softly, reveling in my womanly power.
“Behave,” Henley growls against my neck, his lips vibrating my skin.
“Make me behave.” I squeeze his shaft with my inner muscles.
“You’re a naughty kitten.” Henley nips my earlobe with his teeth and thrusts harder, driving me back into the mattress. I push upward, tilting my hips to take him deeper inside me, and a rumble of satisfaction rolls up his chest.
He thrusts. I push. He thrusts. I push. We battle back and forth for fulfillment, our sexy contest of wills escalating my arousal.
Henley is stronger, a healthy male in his prime, and I’m forced to concede defeat, submitting to him, matching my rhythm to his. We move together, and all talking, all thinking stops as we lose ourselves in the physical, in each other.
I pant, he grunts, and the headboard bangs against the wall, the sounds of our joining filling the hotel room. Desire coils around me, squeezing the air from my lungs, tightening my pussy around his shaft, increasing the friction, the delectable warmth between us.
Henley isn’t fucking me. He’s making love, every touch of his fingers, every nibble of his lips, every swivel of his hips infused with caring, with ownership, with the force of forever.
“Henley.” My voice thins with passion.
“Not yet.” Henley denies me release, prolonging my torment. He grinds into each thrust, pressing his body against my clit, stripping my restraint until I’m bared to him. I whimper and cling to his shoulders, struggling to hold back my orgasm, to please him.
“You’re strong,” he drawls in my ear, his lips brushing against my skin. “Strong enough to face the world alone if you had to.” He stills, dangling me over the precipice, and I dig my leather-covered fingernails into his skin, desperately holding onto him, needing one more thrust to push me into the abyss. “But you don’t have to. I’ll be standing by your side today, tomorrow, and forever.”
Henley pulls back his hips, sliding his cock head along my inner walls. “Come for me, kitten.” He slams into me, filling my pussy with hard cock, and he bites my earlobe, severing my grip on reality.
“Henley,” I scream, bucking, breaking, my pieces flying in different directions, sharp and deadly. Henley roars, pulsing hot jets of cum into my writhing body, pinning my ass to the mattress. I rake my fingertips over his back and he drives even deeper, fusing our forms together, all of him flowing into me.
“I love you, Henley.” I don’t know anything except this truth, my thoughts fried, my brain empty. “I love you so much.” I stroke his skin and suck on the base of his neck, his veins pumping under my lips, the beat reassuringly strong.
“I love you too, kitten.” He slumps on top of me, covering me with his big form. I swallow my squeak of protest, needing the reassurance of this full-body connection.
He’s here and he’s mine. I splay my fingers over his back. I’m never letting him go.
Epilogue
* * *
“THIS WAS A great meeting.” I smile at the human resources personnel representing Blaine Technologies’ LA and New York offices, the companies now fully integrated. “I’ll send the minutes with the action steps and responsibilities by the end of the day.” I stand, avoiding Ludmilla’s gaze. The former Volkov Industries’ employee’s eyes soften with a sympathy that makes me cringe. “Thank you.” I clasp the binder against my chest and rush out of the meeting room.
“Miss Volkov.” The woman follows me into the sixth-floor hallway.
I plaster a smile on my face and pivot on my pretty pink heels. “Please call me Kat.” I tug on my matching blazer. My fingers are bare. I left my gloves in a drawer in my desk, beside my collection of brightly colored sticky notes. “Do you have a question about the new security policy?” I attempt to steer the topic o
f conversation away from the anniversary of my father’s death.
The New York team surrounds Ludmilla, their expressions equally solemn. “Our thoughts are with you today.” Ludmilla’s tone is unnaturally gentle. The other employees nod their heads. “Your father was a brilliant man. He changed the future of technology, improving our lives.”
“He was a brilliant man.” I tilt my chin upward, blinking back tears. As my wedding to Henley approaches, I feel my father’s loss more and more. My uncle will fill my father’s role in the ceremony, walking me down the aisle, lifting my veil, giving me away. I swallow the lump of emotion building in my throat. “Thank you.”
“His death was a tragedy.” Ludmilla isn’t finished. She wants to talk about my father, as many people do. I can’t. Not yet. “I often wonder what he could have achieved if . . .” A familiar shadow falls over me. The woman’s jaw drops and her eyes widen. “Mr. Henley.” She steps backward.
I turn and glance up at Henley. He’s wearing the Barker Blacks, the shoes he wore on the day we met, and he’s dressed all in black as he always is, his suit Italian, the exquisitely designed jacket clinging to his broad shoulders.
“There’s an urgent situation requiring Miss Volkov’s attention,” Henley rumbles. His gaze is fixed on my face, his lips are flat, and his brown eyes glimmer with intent. He’s rescuing me, saving me from the sympathy of others.
Tension drips from my shoulders. “I’m coming right away.” I flutter my fingers against my chest, feigning alarm. “If you’ll excuse me.” Ludmilla nods, rendered speechless by the presence of Blaine Technologies’ head of cybersecurity. I slide my palm along Henley’s scarred skin, he folds his fingers over mine, securing me to him, and we walk toward the bank of elevators.
A tall thin man approaching us raises his gaze above my head and abruptly turns left. Heads duck down, hiding behind gray cubicle walls. Men and women gathered by a humming printer scatter, abandoning their printouts.