by JB Brooks
His grip tightened in my hair and he forced my mouth open wider, angling my head to give him maximum access. He was rough now but that was exciting for me. He kissed me with the absolute entitlement of ownership and it left me defenseless. I was pliant in his arms, letting him arrange our positions as he wanted, welcoming his invasion and feeling my body preparing itself for so much more.
He wrenched his mouth from mine.
“Jane, put your tongue into my mouth. Do it to me, the same thing.”
He sealed our lips together again.
This was new for me. In the few kisses I’d had in my life, I’d only been a recipient. I felt awkward but stuck my tongue out, not really knowing what to do. Then it was all heat and suction in the hot cavern of his mouth as he took over, drinking me in, swirling his tongue around mine.
He leaned back in the recliner, pulling me with him by his tight hold in my hair, keeping our mouths fused, until I was sprawled over his naked chest. My hands roamed restlessly over his pecs, pressing his firm skin, his tight nipples, feeling him, feeling… Oh god.
I suddenly understood the real meaning of desire, and it was not romantic. It was raw and urgent. I needed this man like I needed my next breath.
He ended it at last, of course, easing me back to my knees on the carpet but keeping his hand twisted in my hair. My disappointment must have shown because he laughed at my expression. He ran his thumb over my lips, through the saliva that was smeared around my mouth, streaking it over my cheek, down toward my jaw.
“Very good, Jane.” His tone was approving. “No holding back, no resisting. You carry on like that and we’ll get on just fine.”
He finally released me and I sank to the carpet, boneless. He stood up, stepping past me, and went to the sliding door, which he unlocked and opened.
“It’s late, Jane.”
I looked at my watch. God, I must have been kissing him for almost an hour. He raised a sardonic brow at my shock.
“Time flies when you’re having fun. But now you must choose. If you stay I’m going to fuck you now. Otherwise go home, lock your door and go to bed.”
My gaze slammed into his and I realized with a shock that under his calm exterior he was all animal, blazing with lust, with a primal urge to take me and possess me. The bulge straining against his jeans looked threatening.
My instinct for self-preservation, seduced and subdued though it was, stuttered back to life at the sight of the predator in his eyes and I scrambled to my feet. I was not ready to deal with him on that level yet—he would crush me, chew me up and spit out my heart.
With a wordless shake of my head I fled past him and tore down the garden, imagining his footsteps behind me. My shirt ripped as I levered myself through the gap in the fence. Seconds later I was back in my house where I spun around and locked my kitchen door, sliding the extra bolt home too. Relieved that I’d turned off all the lights before leaving, I sank to the floor, my back leaning against the door. I fought to stop my gasping breaths and the trembling in my limbs.
What the hell just happened? Why did I think he was chasing me?
Ten minutes later I heard the soft sound of footsteps outside the back door. They paused, and very deliberately the door handle was rotated then slowly released when the door was found to be locked. The footsteps did not move away.
A minute later he spoke without raising his voice, as if he knew that I was just on the other side of the door.
“All right, Jane. Today, you get away with just a kiss. But you remember our deal. Be at my door at half past six tomorrow.”
The or else was left unspoken.
Chapter Two
Tuesday
The next evening I returned to Matt’s house as instructed at half past six. I was the trembling survivor of a day from hell. Never in my life had I been so torturously undecided about what I should do.
I was worse than useless at work. All I could think of was what had happened the night before. Humiliating, shocking, terrifying, exciting—I went over every action and every word in minute detail but a logical conclusion eluded me. Should I throw caution and wisdom to the wind and put myself in the hands of a man who I knew nothing about, just because I was so extraordinarily sexually attracted to him? Could I trust this stranger with the most intimate part of myself? Could I even trust myself when I was around him? My physical response to him was enormous and overwhelming, and when I was with him I was not myself.
But… I liked the woman who emerged when I was under his influence.
Ha, like alcohol, or a drug! At least you admit it!
I honestly didn’t know why I was such a timid brown mouse at work, but the problem had been going on for as long as I could remember. In high school and at college everybody knew that Plain Jane was the quietest girl in the class. Over the years I’d heard more than one family member describe me as “a bit of an introvert”. And when I was with my friends, well, I was always the designated driver, or the one left holding the jackets or watching the bags while the others “just popped off” to do something. Or someone.
Inside my own head I was vivacious and witty—the kind of woman who could stand up for herself in any situation and make her friends laugh while doing it. I had things to say that were worth saying. I was well-educated and no slouch in the IQ department. But for some reason, all this personality was tightly locked down inside me. My body was frozen and my throat was a labyrinth that my voice could not negotiate no matter how hard it tried, and all that ever escaped me were little monosyllabic sounds, usually affirmative.
Oh Jane, can you come in extra early tomorrow to take minutes for the sales meeting? And just pick up coffees for everyone on your way.
Oh Jane, Bob’s secretary’s off sick and he’s got a presentation on Monday. Can you come in over the weekend to type it up?
Oh Jane, I know it’s a bit out of your way, but can you give me a lift to Andy’s house? And can I borrow your new black skirt?
Oh Jane, won’t you come round after work today? Mr. Ruffles needs a bath and I just can’t manage it alone. And please stop and buy some cat litter on your way.
Yes, sir. No problem. Sure, Ellie. Okay, Mom.
Oh god.
And so it went on. I wasn’t shy. I didn’t feel nervous. I just…couldn’t say what was really in my head. The more frustrated I became the more the labyrinth twisted and constricted and the less I said.
But last night something had felt different. I’d been trapped in the ultimate corner, in the most embarrassing fix that I’d ever been in, manhandled and dominated by the most intimidating man I’d ever encountered. Unexpectedly there had been an unbinding of the labyrinth, a loosening of its choking coils. I’d felt things, said things and done things, and some of what was inside me had escaped and had been heard. By him. He’d seen something beyond Plain Jane, the mouse, and he’d given me permission to set it free. And I had.
So I was there, knocking at his door, sick to my stomach with fear. He shouted something from inside and a moment later I heard his footsteps through the door. Then he opened it and gestured me inside. I rushed past him before my courage failed and headed into the lounge, hearing him close and lock the door behind me.
I turned as he came into the lounge and we looked at each other in silence for a moment. He was in jeans again, dark-blue this time. His feet were bare and he had on a gray t-shirt that hugged his shoulders and chest then fell more loosely over his lean stomach. His biceps stretched the sleeves tight, and the black tattoos that snaked their way down the knotted muscles of his arms seemed strange and exotic against the normalcy of his simple clothes. I could easily imagine him in biker leathers, or something much more barbaric involving Celtic armbands and lots of naked skin. I tried to moisten my dry lips but my salivary glands were completely malfunctioning. I was ironically aware that other parts of my body were overcompensating although I’d only been in his company for a few moments.
He was studying me just as thoroughly in that in
tense way of his. I wondered what he saw. I was in my work clothes, which I always thought of as my invisibility armor. Today’s combination was a charcoal-gray pencil skirt, knee height, and a white blouse with little pearly buttons up to the collar, which was neither too high nor too low, just revealing the dip at the base of my throat. Sheer black pantyhose and black pumps with little heels completed the look that was almost a uniform at e-Vent Inc., the multinational marketing group where I worked. I had multiples of the same outfit in various carefully selected neutral colors hanging in my closet at home, but it didn’t help me. On the other women, the exact same outfit seemed to take on so much character. Some looked willowy and elegant, and some sexy, in a sharply professional way. A few managed to look like slutty schoolgirls, much to the delight of the men, and even plump Jemma at the third floor reception, whose skirt zippers and shirt buttons strained, had her share of admirers who gathered every morning to check out her round ass and bottomless cleavage in her too-tight clothes. But on me, it was nothing more than camouflage.
Oh Jane, you’re still here!
Sorry, Jane, I didn’t notice you there!
Where’s Jane? Oh there you are!
But Matt saw me. He was having a very good look.
He probably thinks you’re unhinged for coming back. Or pathetically desperate. And he’s right on both counts!
I fidgeted awkwardly under his scrutiny, grateful that I’d put my contact lenses in as it would be at least one thing that might please him. I had no idea how to break the silence. I felt a strong compulsion to try to explain why I’d come and my mind whirled, my throat tightened up and the familiar frustration roared in me. I frowned—this was not like yesterday.
He pointed to the reclining armchair. “Sit down.”
It was not an invitation.
I sat immediately, relieved that he was going to take charge.
“I’ll get you something to drink, and then we’ll talk.”
He disappeared into the kitchen without waiting for a reply and returned almost immediately. He handed me a cool orange juice and put a glass of white wine on the table next to me. I sipped, grateful that he’d brought me something to quench my thirst. I wasn’t ready for wine yet. The juice was freshly squeezed, delicious on my desiccated tongue.
He fetched the same for himself and settled on the couch where I’d sat last night. I wondered if he’d swapped us around for a purpose, my nervousness making me look for meaning in his smallest actions.
“So you came back, Jane. I’m glad you made the right choice. This is much easier than if I’d had to go hunting for you.”
I froze, my glass at my lips, staring at him. He stared back.
“I would have come for you, yes,” he confirmed, “and then I would have had to teach you not to break our appointments. That would have been a difficult way for us to start.”
I hastily put down my glass, my hand shaking. He wasn’t joking.
Okay, girl, you’ve got yourself a stalker here.
He ignored my reaction and began his interrogation.
“There are things that I need to know about you. For starters, tell me about your job. Who do you work for and what do you do?”
“I work for e-Vent Inc. They’re a major international marketing group,” I began, grateful that my voice wasn’t shaking too.
“Oh I know them well.” He smiled. “They’re a client of mine. I was in the army with James Jameson.”
My jaw dropped. He knew James Jameson, the legendary founder of e-Vent Inc. and the e-Vent Group International? A hundred questions rushed to mind but he’d already moved on.
“What do you do there?” He was more than casually interested, and being the focus of his regard was both flattering and unnerving.
“Oh I’m just a PA. Personal assistant to Stephen Boyde. He’s the Sales Manager for The Web Marketing Division. But it’s not a very creative job,” I hastened to add. “They’re all really creative, but my job is mostly organizing meetings and presentations, taking minutes, lots of emailing and typing—you know, admin stuff.”
He was nodding, a speculative look on his face. I was about to explain how the division worked when he cut me off with his next question.
“How many sexual partners have you had, Jane?”
Whoa, talk about the element of surprise!
I didn’t want to tell him. I really didn’t want to admit to this staggeringly sexy man that I was still a virgin at the age of twenty-four, for so many reasons. Mostly it made me feel too vulnerable, and terribly, painfully shy.
So lie, girl! Get on with it, for god’s sake! Just pick a number and go with it!
But I had hesitated too long.
Yeah, with your mouth hanging open and blushing like an idiot! Smooth!
“Well, well, you’re just full of surprises, Jane. This will be a rare treat.” His brows were raised and his eyes were gleaming with a light that I was beginning to recognize. I felt like a bug under a magnifying glass but he continued with his interrogation.
“I guess you’re not on birth control then? We’ll have to take care of that quickly.”
“Actually I am. I’m on the Pill.”
“Oh, and why might that be?”
I blushed again. “I went on holiday with some friends in September, to Thailand…”
“What friends?”
“Just some girlfriends. Four of us.”
“And you needed the Pill?”
“Well, I thought…” I stammered, embarrassed again. “I thought I might, you know… It was a busy resort and…” I looked at him, vexed, wishing he’d understand without my having to spell it out.
“You thought you might meet someone? Have a little holiday fling?”
I closed my eyes and nodded, relieved that he’d said it.
“I gather it didn’t happen? That’s just as well, Jane. Things like that can be dangerous.”
“Well if it had, I’d’ve made him use a condom as well,” I said indignantly. “I’m not an idiot, you know. I know about STDs.”
“STDs are just one thing, Jane,” he said darkly. “There are criminals that prey on girls like you, on holiday with their guard down.”
“Oh please! I’m twenty-four years old. Give me some credit!”
“All right. Then there’s something you should be asking me right now—go ahead and ask.”
I stared at him in confusion. And annoyance.
“No? I’ll tell you then. I’m clean. No STDs. I get tested regularly and I always practice safe sex until my partners can prove they’re clean too. And when I’m in a relationship, I don’t have casual sex.”
I gaped at him. Of course I should have asked him about STDs but he overwhelmed me, made me defensive. He changed the topic again.
“What were you planning to wear to the party? You said it’s black tie?”
This time I actually groaned out loud. Working out what to wear was a nightmare for me. I never got it right. Besides, it didn’t matter what the hell I put on, I was still Plain Jane.
“What?” he demanded at my frustration.
“I have a few options in my closet,” I snapped at him. His right eyebrow arched faintly.
“Excellent.” He drew out the word. “Bring them all with you tomorrow. I’ll choose.”
Irritation loosened my tongue. “Look, Matt,” I began, “I know we have this deal but…”
I got no further. He was out of his chair in a flash and looming over me, his hands on the arms of my chair, boxing me in. I gasped in fright and a twist of arousal spiked my pussy from the inside out.
Pop the footrest—hit him in the shins!
I grabbed the little lever on the side of the chair and yanked but he was ready for it, his leg pressed against the footrest so that it couldn’t pop up.
“I don’t believe you tried that, Jane,” he growled. He moved intimidatingly into the inner confines of what I considered to be my happy bubble of personal space.
Oh shit, he looked real
ly angry. Arousal signals got all confused in my brain and panic surged through my body. I tried to push him aside and jump to my feet, but he wouldn’t let me get up from the chair. We tussled briefly, but hard, my breath coming in sharp gasps. I wasn’t playing—I really wanted to get away from him, but he subdued my attack with laughable ease. He trapped my hands against the back of the chair over my head when I attempted to hit him. I tried to knee him in the groin, remembering my self-defense lessons, but my strike had no real power from my sitting position. He caught the blow on the side of his leg and, laughing, pinned my legs by sitting astride my lap, his powerful thighs on either side of mine, squeezing my legs together painfully. He looked at me in silent assessment for a long moment.
“Do you really want me to let you go, Jane? Do you want to call it off?”
Yes! No! How can you ask me what I want when I don’t know what you’re going to do to me?
I gaped at him in desperate silence. I’d been so brave to come back, I didn’t want to waste all that courage!
“I’ll tell you what, Jane. If you want me to let you go, say the word red. If you say red, the deal’s off—anytime, anyplace. And if you can’t talk then click your fingers or tap three times. It’s the same as saying red. Do you understand?”
Why would I not be able to talk?
“Yes, Matt.”
“Good! Now do you want to say something to me?”
I shook my head slowly.
He transferred both my hands to one of his and closed his other hand over my throat. He pushed slowly. The chair, already released when I pulled the lever, began to recline back in tiny increments. I froze, staring up at him as we slowly slid down, until I was flat on my back and he was kneeling over me. The pressure at my throat was just hard enough to cause a muzzy throbbing in my head and I could feel the pulse in my neck pounding under his fingers. He was still excited from our tussle, his breathing fast, a faint flush coloring the skin over his harsh cheekbones, his eyes blazing into mine with triumph. He let my hands go and, supporting his weight on one arm, lowered his body onto mine. Slowly and deliberately. He held my gaze, curving his hips into me, letting me feel every inch of his hard, aroused cock behind his jeans. He continued lowering himself until his chest crushed my breasts and his face hovered over mine. He still squeezed my throat, an immediate and potent reminder of his physical supremacy and dominance over me.