Just thinking about it... I think he was marking me in some way and that causes a shiver to run up my spine. Leaning back in my office chair, which squeaks horribly, I try to get a peek inside his office. I can only see about half of his desk from this angle and it looks like he has his legs kicked up on it, his booted feet crossed one over the other.
So you see, the Old Callie Hayes had her dutiful sex with Will maybe two or three times a week. I actually thought that was quite an active sex life, but now that I've been with Woolf, it seems his standard is two to three times a day, and that makes me realize I have really been naive about it all.
The old Callie Hayes waited for Will to make the move. Maybe because I was shy and unsure of myself, or maybe because the book I was reading was more interesting than the five minutes it would take Will to get off, but I just never initiated sex.
I haven't done that with Woolf either, only because he's so insatiable, he's always one step ahead of me. His hands are always on me before I even think to reach out to touch him. His mouth is on mine first, and I'm the one responding to him. I've never been a very forward person in normal circumstances, and I was always content to let my one and only other partner, Will, direct me on what to do. Woolf is very much the same... he dominates and takes control. Sweeps me up and then I'm utterly powerless. I just ride the wave, so very lucky he is always focused first and foremost on my pleasure.
Yes, the Old Callie Hayes would sit here demurely at my desk and diligently work the day away, waiting and wondering if this evening Woolf will want me. Maybe we'd go out to dinner, and then back to my house where we'd make love--strike that--fuck, all night long.
Yup... just going to sit here and wait.
I lean back in my chair again, and his boots are still crossed on the desk. It's utterly quiet in there, but that's not unusual. He will often work solidly on his computer for hours, reviewing corporate reports, answering emails, directing others through digital means.
Hmmmm... wonder what the New Callie Hayes would do though? She's the girl I want to become. She's the one that could imagine herself stripping naked right here, walking into Woolf's office, laying across his desk with come-hither eyes, and asking him to fuck me.
Yeah.... no... I can't do that. Every single thing that could go wrong flashes before me.
He's not interested.
He doesn't have sex during the work day.
He'd think it was inappropriate.
He's turned off by forward women.
Another dozen reasons pelt at me, knocking my confidence down even further. I'm not that type of girl. Even if I'd love nothing more than for Woolf Jennings to throw me down and pound the ever-loving breath out of me, I can't ask for it. I'll just have to wait.
Except...
I'm never going to stop being the Old Callie Hayes until I actually start trying to be the New Callie Hayes.
Leaning back in my chair, I look once more, completely confounded that I am obsessing about sex so much. I never thought about it constantly the way I am now.
Boots still crossed on his desk, complete silence meaning he's immersed deep into something.
Oh, screw it. I need to take the New Callie out for a spin and see what she can really do.
I look down at the fitted but no-nonsense white button-up shirt I'm wearing paired with a simple black pencil skirt and black heels. The only thing sexy about it is the clothing molds to my frame well, but it's totally unrevealing. So I solve that problem by unbuttoning two more buttons at the top and the material spreads beautifully so you can see my cleavage. My skirt has a small slit on the right side that only travels a few inches above my knee so it doesn't reveal much when I'm walking. I take my scissors from the cup holder on my desk and use the slender, sharp end to pick at the stitching in the slit. I pop out several and pull the material apart, until it rises another three inches to mid-thigh. Because the material is so snug, if Woolf even bothers to look at me while I walk, he'll see a good bit of leg now too.
Taking a deep breath, I stand up from my desk, run my fingers through my hair to fluff it, and then let all the air out, feeling empowered.
When I step into Woolf's office and get a full view of him, he's exactly as I imagined from the little bit I could see. He's got his big leather chair leaned way back with his booted feet still crossed and resting on the edge of his desk. He has his laptop on his lap and his eyes are narrowed at the screen in concentration while he chews on his bottom lip.
He doesn't look up at me so I take a moment to walk over to his credenza on the opposite wall and pick up the stack of folders he had been working on earlier. When he's finished with stuff that needs to be filed away, he sits it there for me to pick up and handle.
And oops... as soon as I pick up the folders, they all seem to clumsily tumble from my hands to the floor. I squat down, keeping my knees primly together and making sure my right leg is facing Woolf. I can feel the air against my skin at just above mid-thigh where my skirt has split apart.
After I gather all the folders up, I take a peek over at him and find that he's watching me. A tiny thrill rushes through my body as his eyes drop down to my leg. I slowly stand up, the folders grasped in one hand, and start walking toward his desk. Woolf's eyes rise up and spend a few moments checking out the low dip in my blouse as I saunter his way. His lips curve upward in an appreciative smile.
When I reach the edge of his desk, I rest a hip against it and hug the folders to my stomach.
"What are you working on?" I ask, because while I had all kinds of courage strutting in here, I'm really not sure what to do right now. Normally, I would think the slit in the skirt and the peek of cleavage would have Woolf up and out of his chair, but he just gives me a lazy look.
"Just a bunch of boring shit about some oil wells we're purchasing in Nebraska," he says as he leans forward slightly and puts the laptop on his desk. He then leans back in his chair again, clasps his hands together, and rests them on his stomach. His boots on the desk haven't budged an inch.
He just stares at me, amusement shining in his eyes. I stare back... unsure of what to do.
"Did you need something?" he asks me slyly, his eyes flicking down to my breasts and then back up to me again.
I can't tell whether he's encouraging me or not. I have no confidence to discern the difference, so I let Old Callie lead the way. "Um... no. I was just going to get your coffee cup and wash it out."
I lean across his desk and grab the cup. Just as my fingers loop into the handle, his hand comes out so he can graze a finger along the back of my hand. My eyes slide over to him, and the amusement is gone. Now he's looking at me with dead seriousness in his eyes. "You know, Callie... if you ever want anything from me, you never have to be afraid to ask."
I swallow hard. It's painfully clear now that he's read me like a damn horny book. He knows why I came in here. He sees right through me, and he also knows I'm a chicken shit when it comes to follow through.
Woolf waits me out, giving me no other encouragement. Nibbling on my lower lip, I try to decide what to do. I truly didn't have anything planned, figuring my cleavage and bare thigh would induce Woolf up and out of his chair. But it seems that Woolf wants to see how the battle of Old versus New Callie plays out.
He's a patient man. I know he'll sit here all day.
I release my hold on the cup and lay the folders on his desk. As I straighten up, I tap the back of my hand against his boots, encouraging him to put his feet down. He does without hesitation, placing them solidly on the wooden floor and then spreading them slightly. He leans back in his chair and watches me.
I gather up every bit of courage I have, tell myself I am one sexy woman and that no matter how awkward I might be, Woolf is going to enjoy anything I hand out to him.
Still, I can't help the bit of nervousness in my voice when I step in between his legs and tell him as I look down at his face, "If it's okay with you, I want to give you a blow--"
My words falter... s
top dead in their tracks.
Stiffen that spine up, Callie. Go for what you want.
"I mean," I say again with a stronger voice as I drop to my knees in front of him. "I'm going to suck your cock, Woolf Jennings, and I'm going to love every fucking drop you give me."
"Oh, Jesus Christ," he groans as he sits up straighter in his seat. His hand goes to his crotch, and he gives a slight rub to the bulge that is growing exponentially behind his fly. "That may be the hottest thing I've ever heard in my life."
I can't help but snort. "I think any man would think that was the hottest thing ever."
A hand shoots out, and Woolf palms the side of my head, his thumb rubbing against my cheek. "No, that was the hottest thing because it came out of sweet Callie Hayes' lips and because I've been fantasizing about you doing that to me since I was about twenty years old."
"Really?" I ask in amazement, and I can't help the actual goofy, love-struck tone to my voice. He's been thinking about me like that for all this time?
"Really," he says and then his other hand comes up behind my head. He reaches under my hair and then grips it in a ponytail to hold it out of the way. "Now what are you waiting for?"
All of a sudden, I don't have a single doubt in my head. Giving head has never been that great of an experience for me, and I know it all boils down to the fact that I just don't think I really cared if I pleasured Will. Things were so off... so unsure, that I just didn't have this insane and overwhelming attraction to him. And because he was never focused on pleasuring me, I really didn't care if I did it to him. The times I did were because we both might have been a bit tipsy and he begged me to do it, but otherwise... I just didn't like it with him.
But with Woolf... I want to do this. I mean really, really want to do this to him. I think of all the ways he's had his mouth on me, selflessly giving and giving and giving to me. My mouth waters as my hands come out and work at his belt buckle. He lifts his hips enough to let me open the fly and tug the thick denim down a bit, all the while he palms the side of my head with one hand and holds my hair in a ponytail at the back of my head with the other.
His cock is thick and hard, standing straight up before me after I release it. Dark and dusky, one perfectly thick vein running straight up the middle but then it veers off at an angle, making me want to cock my head to the side and see where it goes.
Instead, I look up at Woolf and he's watching me with expectant eyes. His jaw is locked tight and his chest is rising and falling rapidly. I open my mouth, bare my teeth slightly, and then scrape them lightly over the tip. A long, deep groan rumbles out of Woolf as his head falls back against the chair and his eyes squeeze shut.
Exhilaration and something that feels like victory swells within me that just that one, tiny touch reduced him to utter helplessness.
"You're going to kill me, Callie," he whispers as his fist tightens in my hair. He raises his head and looks down at me solemnly. "I'm not going to last long, sweet girl. I want this too fucking much and when you put that mouth on me, you're getting ready to make all my dirty dreams come true."
I blink at Woolf, processing his words. Here I am... on my knees with a big, thick cock right in front of my face, and he's telling me I'm a dream for him. I'm getting ready to do something naughty and indecent in the middle of a work day, and yet... it causes something in my heart to shift. I'm truly understanding that perhaps Woolf hasn't been as indifferent to me all these years as I've thought.
Maybe all of that was just bad timing before.
I smile at him as I grasp him firmly around the base of his erection, leaning up and over him. His fist tightens harder in my hair, stinging at the base of my scalp, and I open my mouth to bring him in.
When I descend upon him, he whispers my name with such worship that I'm not sure that there isn't anything I wouldn't do for this man.
Chapter 15
Woolf
You'd think a man that had gotten a five-star blow job from the woman of his dreams less than twenty-four hours ago would be walking around with a glorious smile on his face, but the truth of the matter is, I'm one grumpy son of a bitch right now.
And when I say five-star blow job, that really doesn't do it justice. What Callie Hayes didn't have in experience, she more than made up for it with exuberant effort. She wanted to devour me.
She did devour me.
She took every inch of me, enslaved me, made me beg her, and when she let me come, I swear for a moment I heard a choir of angels singing while I watched her throat move up and down as she swallowed every drop. Her eyes were shining with triumph and care, and I knew in that moment if I could get it up again right then and there, she'd do it to me all over again. That's just how focused she was on pleasuring me.
Pleasuring me with no expectation of anything in return. I tried to put her on my desk so I could lick an orgasm out of her, but she pushed me away. She patted at her hair, buttoned her shirt back up, and sashayed out of my office, saying, "That was just for you, Woolf."
The rest of the day, I couldn't think straight. I just kept playing that perfect cock suck over and over again in my mind, and I walked around with a woody all damn day. When work was over, I merely grabbed her purse in one hand, her elbow in the other, and forced her into my truck. I took her to my house where as soon as we made it to the foyer, I fucked her right there because I seriously couldn't wait a moment longer. Her laugh was husky and grateful, and she gripped my hair in her hands while I thrust viciously into her.
It was a perfect day. Started to be a perfect night.
After I pulled her up off the foyer floor, we both took a quick shower together and then we ate a quick meal of some sandwiches and chips in the massive, gourmet kitchen. I sipped on a beer, she on a white wine, and this is where the grumpiness started.
Callie took a sip of wine, dabbed at her lips with her napkin, and said, "Woolf... I want to go back to The Silo."
My beer bottle was raised halfway to my mouth. I was standing on one side of the kitchen island and she was sitting on a stool on the other side. I just stared at her in disbelief, not quite believing that's what she said. But she just held my gaze and I knew she was being serious.
"What?" I asked with my voice raised just an octave.
"The Silo," she reaffirmed. "Ever since you took me there... and I saw that woman with two men, and then all the other people watching--"
"No," I cut her off quickly. I provided no explanation for my refusal because I'm not really sure why I was denying her this.
She never blinked once, just insisted, "Yes."
We then argued for an hour and a half straight. Her reasons were simple. She was intrigued by the wickedness of public sex. She'd been obsessing about the menage. She wanted me to fuck her and have an audience. And this is the part that killed me. She said, "I want to be a part of your world."
It killed me because she isn't a part of that world. She can't ever be. She's Callie Hayes. Sweet Callie Hayes. I don't want that to mar her, and I don't want her tarnished by it. She may have all kinds of curiosities, but I know deep down in my heart that this shit is not for her. I know way down in my gut that she will be left with a bitter taste in her mouth after it's all said and done.
My reasons for denying her were stronger. Simply put, I told her I could not have the governor's daughter participating in an orgy where the citizens of Wyoming or some other state were watching her. I told her through clenched teeth, "Do you have any idea what would happen to your father and his campaign if that got out?"
It didn't dissuade her. She had an answer for everything. "Put a mask on me. Put a bag over my head. Hell, put a wig on me and garish makeup. There are a hundred ways you could disguise me."
And the pisser of it was, she's right. I could disguise her. No one would think twice if I put a hood over her, because everyone would just think it was part of a kinky fantasy. On top of that, chances of her being outed were nil. In addition to the non-disclosure agreement that everyone signed, n
o cameras or phones are allowed in The Silo or cabins and very few locals are members, so there could never be any proof that she was there.
But I didn't tell her any of that. I merely continued to try to talk her out of this insane idea. I even carried her off to my bed where I started playing her body like a fiddle. I kept her distracted. Kept her coming over and over again. I fucked her ruthlessly, hoping to bang the idea out of her head. I may have pushed her off course temporarily, but as we lay side by side in my bed, gasping for air after I blew hot and hard into her, she said, "Woolf... please. Don't shut me away from this part of you. It makes me feel... not good enough for you."
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
That right there got me, and I capitulated on the spot.
Sort of.
I told her she couldn't go to The Silo but that perhaps I could arrange something in a private cabin. She tried to argue but I held firm, and we finally had an agreement of sorts.
Except, I don't like the fucking agreement. I don't want Callie anywhere near the depravity of my club. While I can't figure out why it's good enough for me but not her, I have to put those worries aside and figure out what kind of fantasy I can give her that won't destroy her sweet light.
That is what is making me grumpy.
That is why I'm seeking Bridger's counsel.
I punch in the code to our joint office at The Wicked Horse and walk in. Bridger is seated behind the desk, peering at his laptop.
"What's up?" he says without looking at me.
I sigh and sit down in my chair opposite of him. "Callie wants to get fucked in front of people."
Bridger's head snaps up, and he blinks his eyes in surprise. "She what?"
"Yeah, she's got it in her head that she wants to 'be a part of my world'," I say using air quotes and heavy sarcasm. "Seems she was quite taken with a menage she watched and then threw out the 'I'm not good enough for you so that's why you won't take me' card."
Bridger chuckles and looks back to the computer. "So give it to her. Our world is kind of fun."
"It's not that easy," I tell him in frustration. "I get she's curious about it, but come on, Bridger... she's not built for that stuff. You know it as much as I do."
The Wicked Horse Boxed Set (+Wicked Bond [5]) Page 13