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His wrist rotated and he flattened his palm against my belly, sliding his hand down, under the waistband of my pants, past the elastic of my panties.
My head lolled and I pushed against his hand. Smoothly he parted my outer lips and slid his fingers along the outside of my slit, but he didn't touch my swollen clit, the place where I needed him most.
He curled his fingers, coating them in my juices. Withdrew his hand, slid his other two fingers along my slit, grazing against sensitive flesh, but not quite touching.
Mad with need, I tried to maneuver my hips over his hand, trying to capture him, but he avoided me deftly. His teeth scraped against my collarbone, and he spoke into my skin.
“Beg me to take you,” he murmured. His voice was rough, reverberating through my bones. “Beg me to bend you over that couch and fuck you.”
The words were out of my mouth before I could think about them. “Oh, yes,” I whispered. “Please.”
He paused.
Then, to my everlasting dismay, he pulled back, removing his hand from my pants and leaving a wet, cold trail behind. A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest, turning my knees to pudding.
“No,” he said.
It took a second to register. “What?” I cried. “Why? You asked me to... why?”
And he laughed. He laughed at me.
“Miss Dare, why on earth would you buy the cow if you could get the milk for free?” And he brought his fingers up to his lips. Without taking his eyes from mine, he licked them clean one... by... one.
I turned and fled.
I barely had the presence of mind to grab my purse—and the contract—as I left my dignity behind. Bursting through the double glass doors, I didn't even pause to fix my hair. Instead I just made a beeline for one of the pairs of wooden doors and crashed through them.
I ran past Arthur. I didn't even turn to tell him goodbye. My gait was awkward as I rubbed my thighs together, rushing to the elevator. I slammed my hand against the button and, mercifully, the doors opened immediately. I stumbled inside and they closed behind me, beginning their descent.
I was so close to coming, I didn't care that I was in an elevator. I shoved a hand into my jeans, parting my pussy lips and revealing the nub of my clit to my questing fingers. Desperately I rubbed my fingertip in tight, quick circles, my other hand snaking its way up under my shabby sweater, slipping beneath the strap of my bra. I squeezed my breast and pinched my nipple, sending a stab of need straight down through my belly. My knees buckled and I staggered against the hand rail circling the small space, my body on fire with need. My moans filled the elevator, my face numb with heat and my cheeks burning with shame.
Dipping my fingers into my slick folds, I dragged moisture over my clit, slipping and sliding, my hips bucking against my hand. In the dark of my head, I imagined Anton Waters scraping his large, rough fingers over me, and with a final thrust I dragged myself over the edge. My back arched and I cried out, my head banging against the wall as I thrashed, waves of pleasure crashing into me, threatening to drag me out to a deep and hungry ocean I had only begun to realize was there.
My whole body seemed to contract with the force of my orgasm, my hungry passage squeezing tight around nothing. It wasn't enough. It couldn't be enough. Not when I could have been fucking him. I almost sobbed with disappointment, even as I rode it out, my body locked in tight spasms.
The pleasure faded, and I barely had enough time to pull my hand out of my pants before the elevator doors opened.
A group of business men stood in the foyer, waiting. They pushed their way inside, and I barely had enough presence of mind to slip by them and make my escape.
I had just masturbated in an elevator. And I'd come in record time.
Gulping, I wiped my sticky fingers on the inside of my sweater and hurried past the receptionist and out the door. The cool air of fall slapped me across the face, sobering me.
Couldn't have even waited til you got home, huh? I thought. Pathetic.
My mind reeled as I wound my way through the burgeoning lunch crowd, and I took three wrong turns before I found my way to the subway station. When I finally boarded the subway car, I buried my face in my ha
nds and tried to think. The smell of my own juices clung to my fingers, reminding me of how salaciously I had behaved. I tried to pick through my feelings, but by the time I got home, the pickings were still slim.
I only knew two things. I hated Anton Waters. And I was going to fuck him.
Maybe in more ways than one.
Chapter Two:
Bartered Seduction
The next morning found me sitting in a lawyer's office and nursing a powerful hangover.
