by Lora Leigh
“And how do you know so much about me?” he drawled with a hint of anger. “It’s not like you try to get close to me.”
And there he was wrong. Even in the past year, Crista had soaked up every hint of gossip she could about him. She had watched him, let others talk about him, and found herself looking for excuses to be in places where she knew he would be.
She knew the lawsuit that his aunt had brought against him just after he joined the Marines had ignited a fury of controversy through the town at the time.
All the cousins—Rowdy, Natches, and Dawg—had been in the service, leaving no one in Somerset to protect his interests other than his uncle Ray. Ray Mackay had held that front line like a bulldog holding onto a bone, though.
He had hired the best lawyers, paid them himself, and kept Dawg apprised of each step of the battle. He had managed to get court dates delayed until Dawg had leave, and had stood beside his nephew, against his sister, and shed a tear on the stand as he related the times he had been forced to protect Dawg as a young boy from the father who would have abused him.
Dawg’s bitterness went clear to his childhood, and it had created a man who, even at twenty-four, had been hard and shadowed with distrust. Four years in the Marines and four years working for whatever government agency he was a part of hadn’t helped.
“Getting close to you would have been hard, Dawg,” she finally answered him. “Your groupies stood layers deep and jealously hoarded that hard body of yours.”
It wasn’t far from the truth.
“Or you were just too scared to take what I was offering.” He leaned forward, bracing his arms on the desk as he stared back tauntingly.
And maybe he was right there, too.
Crista shrugged. “I was young. Ages younger than you in experience.”
“But not anymore, are you, Crista? Seven years in bed with two lovers at the same time? Your experience definitely matches mine now, wouldn’t you say?”
Crista felt her heart pause, then race viciously in her chest. She didn’t want this conversation with him now.
“My life after I left Somerset is none of your business, Dawg,” she finally said, aware of the defensive sound of her own voice. “I’ve already explained the distinction to you.”
She didn’t want to explain Mark and Ty; they were none of his business. And he hadn’t begun this relationship with her because of an overwhelming need or rousing love. She was the one that got away. She was smart enough to admit that to herself.
“So, if the three of us had been willing to be faithful to you, you would have considered it?”
She didn’t like the look on his face as he posed that question. It was suggestive, dark, and warning.
“No. I wouldn’t have.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear before crossing her arms over her breasts and staring back at him candidly. “Come on, Dawg, it was eight years ago. You weren’t in love with me. I was a nice little one-night stand that you were too drunk to remember, that’s all. Now, I’m just the woman you’re blackmailing. Let’s not start dragging the past into it.”
“Just the woman I’m blackmailing,” he murmured then, his voice deepening, becoming harsher, hungry. “My own little sex toy, right?”
Crista didn’t let her lips twitch or her amusement show in her eyes. She had a feeling he wouldn’t appreciate it in the least.
She shrugged her shoulders negligently instead. “Do you have a better description?”
He rose from the desk abruptly, startling her enough to cause her to jump a step backward. Smiling in satisfaction, he moved to the tinted windows that looked out over the floor of the lumber store.
Layla had closed up nearly an hour ago and left with her husband and sons, leaving the floor eerily quiet below them. Still, Dawg jerked the shades closed and locked the office door.
Crista licked her lips nervously, feeling the ever-ready heat that lingered beneath her flesh building then. As though every cell of her body was so attuned to him that it knew the moment he decided it was time to begin playing again.
“Fine, I feel like playing then. Take your clothes off.”
Instantly the air was redolent with arousal and hard, male domination.
Crista had already decided that rather than fighting the sensuality and Dawg, she would instead allow herself to enjoy. To revel in the carnal intensity that was so much a part of him and to allow herself this one moment in time to enjoy his taste, his touch.
There was no other man like Dawg, and there never would be.
She couldn’t fight him today. Not right now. She needed his touch as much as he evidently wanted to give it.
She toed her sandals from her feet as her fingers went to the narrow leather belt that cinched her jeans. Her heart was racing in her chest as she flicked the metal button loose and rasped the zipper down. His gaze never left her hands, following each movement as she skimmed the material over her thighs and pushed it down her legs. Stepping out of the jeans, she tossed them to the leather visitor’s chair that sat in front of his desk.
She was left in the snug, narrow-strapped camisole top, lacy white bra, and matching thong she wore. Dawg’s eyes darkened, dilated, as he moved slowly back around the desk and lowered the shade behind the desk.
His expression was pure lust. Dark, overwhelming, tight with hunger, and blazing with arousal. It sent a shaft of fiery sensation streaking to her womb, clenching it violently before snapping to her vagina and spasming through the tender muscles there. Silky wet heat spilled from her as the outer folds became swollen and heavy, so sensitive she had to bite her lip against the whimper that would have escaped her throat.
Dawg disposed of his T-shirt before bending and pulling his boots from his masculine feet. Stripping his white socks off next, his head lifted, his eyes spearing into her.
“You’re not naked,” he reminded her gutturally. “Take the clothes off, or I’ll rip them of you.”
“This is your office.” She was breathless, teasing him even though she knew better.
His lips tightened in a feral smile. “And you’re my sex toy. Office hours are over, and I’m ready to play, Crista.”
Oh Lord, was he ready to play. The T-shirt was tossed in the corner of the room; the muscles of his chest and abs rippled with power and tensed with determination.
“Take the shirt off.”
She gripped the hem of the shirt and pulled it off slowly, her thighs weakening at the sound of his harsh, indrawn breath. Tossing it to the chair with her jeans, she faced him with nothing but a few scraps of lace and a hunger she knew was as naked as his.
“Fucking beautiful,” he growled, his hands loosening his belt slowly. “Now the bra. I want to see those pretty tits. Your sweet, hard nipples.”
Her hands were shaking as she gripped the clasp between her breasts and loosened it. Drawing it from her shoulders, she allowed it to drop, forgotten, to the floor at her feet.
Dawg’s jaw clenched. He pushed his fingers through his long black hair, pulling back the thick, silky strands from his face.
He looked like a savage. Tall, hard, intent on claiming what he believed was his, for now.
Her hands went to the band of her panties.
“Leave them,” he rasped. “Come over here. Right here.” He patted the top of the desk in front of his chair.
Crista felt a shudder work over her body as she moved to him slowly. Wariness had her watching him closely. This wasn’t a hunger that burned hot and fast. She could see that. It was simmering just beneath the surface, a banked, furious blaze that he ruthlessly controlled now.
“Absolutely beautiful,” he crooned in that husky, dark voice as she moved around the corner of the desk.
Sliding in front of the chair, she began to lift herself to the walnut top when he stopped her.
“Not like that.” He gripped her hip with one hand. “Turn around and lean over it.”
She fought to breathe. Turning, she flattened her hands on the desktop and,
with his hand on her back, let him guide her into position.
Her breasts flattened against the dark wood, her nipples tightening against the cool desktop as she felt him move behind her.
She remembered, so clearly, just how much he enjoyed playing with that particular portion of her anatomy.
“The prettiest ass in the state.” His hand smoothed over the rounded globes revealed by the thong.
His hand, calloused and warm, stroked with subtle destruction, his fingers lifting the small scrap of material that slid between the cheeks before replacing it gently.
“Did I spank you that night, Crista?” He leaned close, his lips at her shoulder as he posed the suggestive question.
“No.” She was panting for air now.
There hadn’t been so much as a second of foreplay, and already she could feel her juices dampening her panties.
“I fucked this pretty ass and didn’t spank it?” His hand clenched on one curve as his lips began to trail down her spine. “How neglectful of me. I should rectify that, don’t you think?”
She did whimper then. She had cleaned his office; she knew damned good and well that his desk held exactly what he needed to take her in any way he pleased. The new tube of lubrication he had placed there earlier hadn’t gone unnoticed. And she had found the packaged sex toys herself the day before. Toys that he had opened as he grinned wickedly and washed in the attached bathroom.
He was fully prepared for any sex games he may want to play in his office. And she was no more experienced now than she had been eight years ago.
Feminine fear and nerves raced through her mind, her body. She shuddered beneath him as his lips tracked each vertebra of her spine until he reached the narrow band of the thong she wore.
“I noticed how pretty your ass was at a time when I should have been whipped for noticing.” He drew the band over her thighs, his lips tracking down the side of her buttock as he disposed of the lacy material. “So soft and silky looking, and delightfully curved.”
Crista fought back her cry as his teeth raked over the flesh.
She felt him move, heard the creak of the leather behind her, and knew he had sat back down in his chair. The scrape of the chair wheels over the wooden floor had her flinching as his knees bracketed her legs.
“Perfect position.” Both hands gripped her rear then, spreading the cheeks gently as she felt a soft puff of air against the hidden entrance there.
“Don’t do this,” she suddenly begged, her nails scraping against the top of the desk as her nerves got the best of her. “I can’t stand it, Dawg. Don’t tease me. Just do it.”
She couldn’t bear it. He had already stolen too much of her. Recovering from this episode of her life would take years. What he was doing now she might never recover from.
“You’re the toy, remember?” His voice was harsh with lust now. My toy. Mine to play with, to touch and to taste.” His voice sounded tortured. “Sweet heaven, Crista, how I’ve dreamed of this. Just like this.” He parted her farther a second before his teeth gripped the side of the inner flesh and his tongue flickered over it heatedly.
She tried to jerk upright, to escape the lash of sensation that exploded through her body.
“Stay put,” he ordered forcefully, one hand pressing into the small of her back a second before his tongue swiped through the narrow cleft.
Crista lifted to her tiptoes. The sheer eroticism of what he was doing would brand her soul forever. His tongue flickered along the narrow valley, found the tiny, forbidden entrance, and lashed against the nerve-ridden flesh with destructive strokes.
“Damn you, Crista, you make me wild for you,” he snarled behind her as his head lifted.
His head lifted, and his hand landed on one rounded cheek in a forceful caress that sent a bolt of pleasure ripping through her nerve endings.
She jerked, shuddered, and tried again to lift from the top of the desk.
“Don’t move. You owe me this. Eight fucking years of dreams, and you owe me this.” His hand landed on the opposite side of her rear, sending heat blazing through her in a pleasure-pain that bordered orgasm.
Crista heard her own moan of surrender then. Her rear lifted to him, and a cry escaped her lips as his hand landed again. And again. Sweet God.
“Again.” She heard herself cry out the word, knew she was bucking, pressing back, begging for more of the sweet pleasure-pain. And he gave her more.
“Do you like that, Crista Ann?” He groaned behind her, his hand smoothing over her rear before another heated caress landed on her flesh. Never the same place often enough to draw her from the sensual haze he was building in her mind. Never hard enough to bring her down from the erotic high whipping through her veins.
“Yes,” she cried out.
And she did. Too much. A distant part of her brain connected the dots. She knew what each touch was doing, what each fiery slap against her ass was creating. It was drawing her deeper into the web he was weaving around her soul. Making certain she belonged to him forever. That her soul always followed him, whether his followed hers or not.
Dawg watched as Crista’s ass turned a pretty, heated pink. It mesmerized him. Seeing her body accept each delicately placed, heavy caress. Never too hard. Always just enough to heat rather than burn.
And it was heating her. Not just her flesh, either. Her legs parted farther, mindlessly following the direction of his hand beneath her knee as he lifted her small foot to the desk drawer he had pulled free. He propped it on the edge, watching as her rear parted, as the soft curl-laden folds between her thighs were revealed.
Dew glistened on those folds. Sweet, soft little droplets that had his mouth watering to taste, to lick. He parted the soft swells of her rear once again and leaned forward, groaning as his tongue found the heated core of her pussy and the hot syrup filling it.
Crista flinched, cried out his name, and pressed back, giving him more, begging for a deeper caress.
Not yet. Hell no, not yet. When he finished, he wanted to be certain that not so much as a hint of her former lovers remained in her dreams. He intended to brand her body and her mind with his touch, his possession. When the summer was over, leaving him would be like tearing out her own soul. He’d make certain of it. He had to make certain of it, because he couldn’t imagine losing her.
He nearly paused at the thought. Dawg, getting possessive. It was damned unheard of, but he was. So possessive that he growled, nipped at her smooth rear, then stiffened his tongue and drove inside the liquid hot depths of her pussy as he slid from his chair to his knees behind her.
Sliding the sweet, slick juices from her pussy back to her ass, he lubricated the little hole enough to take the tip of his finger. She flinched, cried out, then drove back, burying the digit to the first knuckle as he fucked his tongue hot and deep inside her.
She was like a fire, burning in his arms. Each time he took her, more memories from that long-ago night coalesced inside his head. They twisted and formed and raced through his mind with a force that left him breathless.
She had taken him then as she was taking him now: eagerly, heatedly, calling out his name in that broken little voice filled with need.
Pulling back, he turned her, ignoring her frantic little mewls of denial, and lifted her to the desk.
“Lie back.” His own voice bordered on demented. “Lie back, Crista. Give me what I need. Now.”
She fell back, her hair fanning out around her sweat-dampened head as her hands reached back and gripped the edge of the desk.
Dawg spread her legs slowly as he lifted them, arranging her feet at the lower edge of the desk and staring at the swollen, wet folds awaiting him.
He bent forward, his eyes closing as his tongue took a slow, greedy lick through the narrow slit.
Crista jerked beneath him, her hips lifting, a low wail leaving her lips. The sounds coming from her throat were making him crazy.
“The sweetest pussy in the world,” he told her gently as he leaned b
ack, smoothed his fingers over the wet curls and stared up her. “Will you have it waxed for me, Crista? Will you have all those pretty curls removed so I can taste your skin, lick all your juices, and show you how sweet and hot it can be when nothing hides you from me? Will you do that for me, sweetheart?”
He pulled the tube of lubrication from the opened bottom drawer as he let the fingers of his other hand smooth over the drenched curves.
“Dawg.” There was an edge of hesitancy and feminine distress in her tone. But her hips lifted to him, her body unconsciously seeking more.
Moving slowly, Dawg spread an application of the lubricating gel on his fingers, let it warm, then lowered his lips to the succulent flesh before him, while his slickened fingers moved to the sweet portal lower.
She cried out his name again as he pressed against the entrance to her anus. Her hips jerked, lifted, and a ragged cry filled the air as he pierced the narrow channel.
His tongue flicked around her clit, then he drew it inside his mouth as the second finger penetrated her tight rear.
God, she was fucking hot. She twisted beneath him, her juices spilling from her. His cock was aching like an open wound, and his balls were drawn so tight against his body that they were in agony.
“Answer me, fancy-face,” he groaned, lifting his lips from her sweet pussy and staring up at her as he worked his fingers inside the tender back hole. “Will you do that for me? Have your pussy waxed. Make it all slick and soft for me.”
He reach back to the drawer and drew out the small butt plug he had taken from the package earlier. She liked that edge of pain. She liked the burning pleasure that seared her nerve endings and made the need for orgasm an erotic agony.
“Yes,” she hissed. “Anything. Anything you want.”
He drew his fingers from her rear.
“No. Don’t stop,” she pleaded raggedly. “Not yet, don’t stop.”
“Shh, baby. I’m not stopping. I’m going to make it better.” He lubricated the tapered toy. “So much better.”
He straightened, lifted her legs, and drew them together before pressing them back.