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* * *
“Perfect,” he says hoarsely, sitting down and reaching in his pants, pulling out his cock and laying it out before me. “Swallow it. Deep.”
* * *
He keeps his eyes on me, watching as I run my hands over its length, wetting my lips and inching closer, trying to keep my eyes on his but pulled to the magnificent sight before me. It twitches beneath my hands, and he pulls on the back of my head, eager to have it in my mouth.
* * *
When I close my mouth on it, sliding my lips over his head, the veins in his cock swollen under my fingers, he groans. A long, slow groan of release, satisfaction. He cradles my hair in his hands, his head tilted, watching me suck, watching my eyes close as I gag, the width and depth of him too great to take.
* * *
“Fuck,” he swears. “Do you know how often I think about you at work? Think about you just like this, behind my desk? I get fucking hard thinking about you.” He pushes my head harder, sitting up slightly and watching the slide of his cock intently.
* * *
His cell buzzes, on the desk, and he reaches for it, his eyes never leaving mine. He answers the phone, pulling at my head, his eyes ordering me to continue.
* * *
“Hello.” He almost growls the word, inhaling sharply when I suck a little harder. I love the taste of his skin. How hard he grows in my mouth, the moments when I taste the sweet drops of his arousal. There is nothing that turns me on more than having him before me, his hands urging me on, his most sensitive organ twitching underneath my tongue. I work my hand over his length, pulling him from my mouth and moving below, taking his balls into my mouth, and rolling them along my tongue, his words pausing in their speech, a brief hitch in his tone.
* * *
I smile, skimming my teeth lightly over the skin, watching his eyes close briefly, his voice struggle to return to the conversation, his words halting when they come. I return to his cock, sucking with renewed energy, my hands and my mouth working in a wet, sexual tandem.
* * *
He stands, pulling my head back slowly, dark eyes watching as inch after inch of his cock leaves my mouth, my cheeks hollowing from the suction, my tongue teasing and flicking as he pulls me off. “John. My wife needs me. I’ll call you back.” He ends the call and tosses the phone aside, pulling me to my feet in one quick movement.
* * *
“Bend over. In my chair. Right fucking now.”
* * *
He yanks at the strings of my bikini bottom, pulling it away before I am in place, my knees hitting his chair a moment later. It is a wide leather chair, worn and sitting low, my knees putting me at the perfect height for his entrance. He pushes a finger inside, swearing when he feels my readiness. “Is that from this?” he asks, thrusting inside, my insides tightening around him, anxious for every inch of his entry. “Does it turn you on to suck my cock?”
* * *
I nod, knowing that it won’t be enough. Knowing that he will want more, will want to hear my voice. But I want the reaction my silence will bring. He slaps my ass, the hard, rough impact against my skin causing me to jump, to moan, the possessiveness of the contact causing a curl of pleasure to shoot through my body. “Answer me.”
* * *
“Yes.” I gasp. “Please. Spank me again.”
* * *
He waits, fucking me hard, the percussion of our skin quick, the anticipation of his touch causing my legs to tighten, my core to grip him tightly. It is building, my mountain of lust, my body shaking and breaking around his stiff rod, each thrust perfectly timed, the entire act too erotic for me to take. Being fucked like a whore, I am learning, turns me the fuck on. Then it comes, another open hand slap against my skin, his fingers gripping after each contact is made, each stinging stroke taking me closer and closer until
* * *
Ecstasy.
* * *
My body breaks into a thousand splinters of pleasure, a series of gasps spilling out, my back arching and pushing against his hard pelvis, our bodies joined as I am torn apart in a sea of desire.
CHAPTER 36
If this woman paid money for these lips, she needs a refund. I pick up a spinach stuffed croissant and take a tiny bite, watching the blonde’s giant lips wrap around the edge of a wine glass. I laugh at a joke another woman says, and wish for some hard liquor.
* * *
It’s amazing how similar a wine charity luncheon can be to stripping. In both, I fake interest, laughing at bad jokes, smiling at conversations I couldn’t care less about. In both, I give compliments I don’t mean, and fake emotions I don’t feel. In both, I’m judged, though it’s funny—in stripping, I was judged for my body. Here, I am judged because of it. Not that they are that obvious. Oh no, they act sweet, but I see the daggers in their glances, the fangs in their smiles. At least in stripping, the assholes are upfront about it. Here, I have to learn an entirely different game to play, the current one against … I silently count my opponents, my eyes hopping across the expensively attired women perched around Nathan’s living room, their hands filled with Beth’s finger foods, most sinking comfortably into their second wine glass. Ten women.
